


traverse the shore with me

by ET29



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artist Clarke, Barista Lexa, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Friendship/Love, Full On Drama, Humor, Slow Burn, Time Jump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ET29/pseuds/ET29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a crush develops into something more than it should, rules of the game change, definitions no longer unadorned. That's when Clarke decides to take a new direction, leaving hometown Polis to pursue her dream (a lie), but what she doesn't know is her presence has been strongly missed by a certain brunette. Her return stirs up tension between the two of them, but the worst part of it all is, she doesn't know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in favor of one

She has two choices.

 

 

Leave this place and start a new life

 

OR

 

Stay and never move forward.

 

 

While she doesn’t like either option, she knows she has to make a decision. She is already standing by the check-in counter at the airport terminal, submitting a 29-inch black suitcase as cargo. Her boarding pass is issued to her by a spirited young woman, who wishes her a safe journey to Seoul. _I guess this is it._

 

“Thank you. Have a nice day.” She returns a smile, shoulders her backpack and proceeds to the gate as stated on her boarding pass.

 

It isn’t a trip to seek pleasures and fulfill bucket lists as it’s probably supposed to be. She needs to go, to cut loose from the ropes that have been tying her down. And this is the way she has chosen to achieve that.

 

 

**

 

Lexa sits lazily on the couch in her living room, both feet up on the fancy mosaic table with the TV remote control in her hand. She watches the screen of the television change in color as she flicks through all the channels, hoping to find something interesting enough to occupy her Friday night. When she can’t find any, she decides to pick her phone up and dial her best friend’s number.

 

She calls her ten times, only for every single one to go to voicemail.

 

 _Maybe she’s with Raven_ , she thinks. Raven has been close friends with Clarke since they were four, but they were often told that their friendship existed way before they were born. Lexa remembers Clarke telling her the story of how the two fought violently over an apple pie made by Clarke’s mother Abby, and it ended with both kids bruised and crying when the poor pie splattered all over the floor, no longer pretty nor mouthwatering.

 

It is on the fourth ring Raven picks up and utters, “What do you want, Lexa?”

 

Surprised by the slight rudeness in her tone, Lexa delivers a sound of silence before she remembers to ask the other person on the line.

 

“Hey Raven. I’ve been trying to reach Clarke for the past -,” Lexa glances at the clock on the wall, “- fifteen minutes, but she’s turned her phone off. Are you with her right now?”

 

She hears a sigh on the end, “I guess she wasn’t kidding when she said she wasn’t going to tell you.”

 

“Tell me what?”

 

When Raven doesn’t reply, Lexa presses further, “Tell me what, Raven?”

 

“She’s leaving.”

 

“Wha – What do you mean she’s leaving?” Lexa doesn’t realize she’s stammering, and the rise in her heartbeat certainly becomes too substantial to be registered immediately by her brain.

 

“I mean what I said, Lexa. Clarke is leaving. Do you know what you’ve done to her?”

 

Confused doesn’t even begin to describe how Lexa is feeling. Her back tenses with worry and her hands suddenly so slippery and shaky. _Clarke, leaving? That’s not possible._ “Listen, I don’t understand –”

 

“No, Lexa. You listen.” The anger is conspicuous in Raven’s voice, and she doesn’t hide it. “Clarke came home in tears last night, begging to be left alone. She was heartbroken. Shattered. She told me what happened between you two. Are you blind, Lexa? That girl has been carrying a torch for you for years. _Years_. Don’t tell me you don’t see it.”

 

Lexa hopes that that was the end of Raven’s unexpected lecture over the phone; because she’s unsure she can take in any more information about her best friend liking her more than just _that_. _Clarke can’t possibly be in lo-, no, she’s not_ , she processes her thoughts. Has she really been oblivious to the feelings Clarke carry for her? The girl who had once got Lexa into a week-long detention for stealing marking schemes from the principal’s office, the girl who said no to her would be prom date when Lexa said she was going alone, the girl who just so happened to be there every time Lexa faced problems of her own and needed a shoulder to cry on. _Oh_. 

 

Lexa closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, hoping to collect some composure before she lets herself ask, “What time is her flight?”

 

“In an hour’s time.”

 

The brunette gets off the couch briskly and reaches for her leather jacket and car key. “Thanks, Raven.”

 

“Don’t try to persuade her to stay. She needs this. Even if you don’t do it for her, do yourself a favor.”

 

Raven ended the call abruptly, leaving a heavy-hearted Lexa by the door, her free hand in mid-air about to reach the doorknob. She doesn’t know what to feel in this moment, but she can’t stop the guilt and bewilderment from pervading the atoms in her nerves, her thoughts vibrating wild about to explode. But this isn’t the time for a discussion between her head and her heart. All she wants to do is to walk out that door and get to Clarke.

 

**

 

“Flight 462 to Seoul, South Korea. Passengers of this flight, please make your way to the gate as we will be boarding shortly.”

 

The announcement knocks Clarke out of her reverie, and that is when she realizes she’s holding a photograph in her hands, crumpled near the center due to the pressure she is applying. It was from Lexa’s eighteenth birthday two weeks prior to their graduation from high school. Lexa is grinning sheepishly in the picture, one hand holding a thin string tied to a balloon and the bridge of her nose attacked by some whipped cream from one edge of her rectangular chocolate mousse cake. Clarke is sitting next to her with both hands placed neatly on her best friend’s left shoulder, her lips pressing softly on Lexa’s pink cheek. She remembers feeling so light and _full_ , fluttering every time she saw Lexa’s unbreakable smile (and she had wished Lexa was smiling because of her).

 

Her thumb traces across the smooth surface of the object, outlining the features of the girl she loves (so deeply), but doing so only exudes pain as she reminds herself of the crushing reality that Lexa will never see her the way Clarke does. Her heart throbs too fast now, like hot sharp needles poking mercilessly at her and laughing at her as she loses that little bit of hope she had. Upon hearing another announcement, Clarke grabs her backpack and stands to leave for the gate.

 

It is then she hears a familiar voice trailing behind her, calling her name repeatedly and desperately like the world is about to crumble and break into millions of pieces, like an earthquake is about to hit and this person would do anything she could to save her. She knows the owner of that voice; the solid riveting voice that she has been hearing throughout the last three years of high school. _Don’t turn around_ , she warns herself _. Keep walking, Clarke._

 

“Clarke!”

 

It is that exclamation, one near to a cry that stops the blonde’s momentum completely. The sudden overflowing emotions in her head account for the rigidity of her body, her stance locks. She feels stupid for stopping for her best friend. She feels stupid for stopping for the girl she cares too much about. She learns that caring too much _hurts_. _Love hurts._

 

Clarke shuts her eyes, clearing her thoughts and gathering all her strength to somehow force a smile on her face. A puff of warm air escapes her lungs easily, taking off some weight she never realized she was clinging to. She hears footsteps approaching closer and closer, and she decides she can’t run away now without facing _her_.

 

When Clarke finally turns around, she doesn’t see a face. But, there is a body leaning against hers, a heart pounding against hers, a pair of arms holding her so tightly, almost choking her. Suddenly, she feels warm and blithe and _alive_. The number of things this girl can do to her is infinite.

 

The brunette pulls away moments later, and green meets blue in the most exquisite way. Yet, the two oceans are tinged with a layer of sadness that neither of them can see. Clarke unknowingly allows herself to drown in the other girl’s eyes, searching for the veracity of their own story (and it can be deceiving). Her gaze lowers down to a pair of glossy, quivering lips, and she’s fighting the temptation to just kiss her and walk away.

 

“Is this how you intend to spend your summer, Clarke? Leave with no goodbyes? We just graduated two days ago for God’s sake!” The disappointment in Lexa’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

 

Suddenly the blonde feels perplexed and less determined than a minute ago, before Lexa appeared and did all sorts of wonder to her heart. She doesn’t know what to make of the brunette’s presence. _What do you want from me, Lexa?_ The Clarke yesterday would have given in again and stayed for Lexa, but the Clarke today is resolute she wants to avoid the same mistake she’s made every time they are together.

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“What doesn’t matter, Clarke? My best friend leaving to God-knows-where for two months, or the fact that you chose not to tell me about it?” Clarke hears Lexa’s voice break and she’s sure her heart breaks a little too. For a brief moment she contemplates ditching her getaway plans and staying. This girl in front of her is a strong, strong distraction.

 

“Not two months,” Clarke mumbles, her voice dropping an octave.

 

Lexa tilts her head slightly and furrows her eyebrows, a questioning look plants itself on her face. Her green piercing eyes stare intently into blue ones as she waits for answer to a question she never verbally asked.

 

“I’m leaving for good. I’m not coming back.”

 

Lexa feels as if she had just been slapped across the face, hard. How has she not seen this coming? They had only graduated from high school two days ago, and it is only the beginning of a summer of great fun and entertainment. They had promised to spend it together before they have to go separate ways for college. That’s what best friends do, right? It doesn’t take much for Clarke to read what is on Lexa’s mind; she is visibly hurt by the upsetting declaration that had been practically tossed at her face.

 

“Have I done something, Clarke? Please, tell me.” She’s imploring, but Clarke doesn’t budge. “We’ll find a way to work things out. We always do.”

 

Those words spear through Clarke’s already frail heart, punching holes and sucking the soul out of it. Is she regretting what she’s doing to this girl? Big yes. Are those beautiful emerald eyes, gleaming with tears now, enough to make her stay? Maybe. Is she going to change her mind about leaving? _No, I can’t. No more holding back._

“You’re my best friend, Lex. You will always be the one I care about most. But there are some things I can’t manage without wanting to do this every time you look at me like that.”

 

Adrenaline rushes its way up Clarke’s spine, and before she can clear her head, she had already done something she had longed but never had the courage to do. It all happens so quickly she hadn’t had the time to reconsider her impulsive action. Her lips are pressed so softly, so carefully and so vulnerably against the corner of Lexa’s mouth, who surprisingly doesn’t pull away. Clarke lets herself forget for a second who they are, what they are and even the memories shared between them before her heart defeated her head.

 

When Clarke finally breaks the contact (although she didn’t want to), she mutters something under her breath before turning around to make her way to the gate. She keeps walking, each step larger than the previous, and doesn’t look back.

 

Lexa just stands there, stunned and bemused, her muscles no longer cooperating with her brain. She doesn’t move to stop Clarke from leaving; she simply stares at the hunched back of the one person she doesn’t realize she cares about more than the others. Tears are running so freely down her red cheeks, but she doesn’t care. She’s lost. She’s angry. She’s tired.

 

 _“May we meet again.”_ Lexa hears Clarke say it again, this time in her head.

 

When Clarke departs, a part of Lexa leaves with her, and no, she’s not okay. All is too late.

 

 

**

_It is at about midnight when the screen of Clarke’s phone blinks and rings, causing a groan out of her as she stretches out for it on the nightstand. She doesn’t open her eyes to peek at the caller ID and answers it with a yawning “Hello?”_

_“Hey.” Clarke almost misses the greeting to the boisterous music on the background, which is starting to give Clarke a migraine considering it is past her bedtime._

_She shifts to a sitting position so that her back leans against her bedframe, subsequently rubbing her eyes to get rid of the drowsiness that is willing to stick around for more than a minute. Her voice still deep with sleep she asks, “Lexa? Where are you? You okay?”_

_“Clarke.” It was quieter than before, more like a soft whisper than a firm address._ Lexa is definitely drunk, _Clarke thinks._

_“Are you at Lola’s? Do you want me to come get you?”_

_When she doesn’t hear an answer she hops off her bed and puts on a white top and a pair of black ripped jeans, and heads off to the pub where they frequented every time a break was needed from school, from home or from life._

_“Stay where you are.”_

_Lola’s is only a little over a mile from Clarke’s residence, and she arrives outside the entrance to see a waiter crouching by the pavement, next to an unconscious figure on the cold hard ground. A black coat spreads over the peaceful-looking brunette, sleeping so ever soundly the wet ground doesn’t even seem to bother her._

_“How long has she been like that?” The man stands immediately, clearly surprised by the blonde’s approach from behind._

_“Hi,” he greets awkwardly. “About ten minutes? Is she a friend of yours?”_

She’s more than that. _“Yeah. Thanks for looking out for her -,” a shiny silver badge made of brass catches her eyes, “ – Aden.”_

_“No worries. It’s only my first night and she’s already left a huge amount of tips for the number of shots she’s consumed. I’m surprised she’s only asleep.” Aden offers a smile before taking off to finish the rest of his shift._

_Clarke doesn’t mind just standing there, studying the gentle features of the girl lying on the ground like it is her new bed, the rise and fall of her chest secretly introduces blood rush within the blonde’s system._ Another one of those days, huh? _When she realizes she’s staring too long, she drops to one knee and reluctantly wakes the other girl by lightly shaking her shoulder._

_“Hey Lex. It’s me.”_

_“Clarke?” Green teary eyes open blearily and a small yawn follows, bringing a smile out of the younger girl. Clarke grabs the brunette’s arm and hooks it over her neck to help to stand, but Lexa proves herself to be a tough one to handle. Her other hand holds onto the inebriate’s waist, and Clarke can’t help the butterflies in her stomach._

_“Come on. Let’s get you home.”_

_The walk to Lexa’s apartment had mostly been quiet, other than Lexa’s occasional stumbling and falling and swearing, and Clarke is thankful to God (albeit she isn’t religious) for the sole fact that her place isn’t too far away from the crowded pub because the proximity to Lexa’s face is killing her._

_A low growl to her right startles Clarke when she tries to steady the petite yet heavy figure next to her. “How are you so heavy when you don’t even eat that much?” No response,_ obviously.

_When she turns to check she sees Lexa smiling widely at her, like she’s her only source of happiness, the only light illuminating her dark world, the only reason she’s trying so hard to live. And as much as Clarke wishes just to lose herself in those mesmerizing viridescent eyes, she has to find the key to the apartment before they fortuitously present the neighbors a reason to lodge complaints._

_“Hey, are you okay to stand?” Clarke asks, slowly removing her hands from Lexa like she’s teaching a five-year-old how to ride a bike._

_Lexa’s smile doesn’t break; her perfect set of teeth still flashing at Clarke and it’s becoming too bright now._

_“I’ll take that as a yes. Give me your key?”_

_Somehow the far-from-sober Lexa understood the question and clumsily searches for the key in all her pockets, front and back. Two seconds later her jaws drop in slow motion and she freezes, her eyes shoot up to catch Clarke’s._

_“I think I lost it.” She says in all-seriousness._

_“You’re kidding, right?” Unconvinced, Clarke lurches forward and reaches for Lexa’s front pocket. “Because I swear I will flip if it’s -,” she feels a bump underneath the material of her denim jeans and pulls out to reveal a distinctively shaped item, “right here.”_

_“Gotcha real good, didn’t I?” Lexa sways a little as she laughs at the success of her little prank on her best friend, throwing her arms around her in an attempt to comfort her._

_“Congratulations, Miss Woods. Here’s your prize of nothingness.” Clarke replies sarcastically as she catches a tripping Lexa just in time._

_Her apartment is rather spacious and immaculate, which comes in no surprise to Clarke as she is fully aware of her best friend’s (mild) case of cleanliness disorder. A mug quarter-filled with black tea sits on the countertop in the kitchen, a distance away from the cozy crimson couches, joined together to form a L shape. She spots a framed picture of a younger version of her and Lexa on one of the freshly painted walls; the brunette carrying the blonde on her back and struggling to keep her straight posture. It is only when Lexa starts humming completely out of tune Clarke snaps out of her reeling memories and leads her to her bedroom._

_The brunette continues to sing, her pitch soaring unbelievably high and rocky Clarke had to put a hand over her mouth to calm the shrill. Lexa climbs up her bed ungracefully (like any other drunkards) and lets out a growl, kicking her duvet off in the process as she concurrently complains about the heat that was tingling at her neck. Clarke chuckles at the rare sight, the sweet smell of daisy flowers filling her nostrils as she picks up the recently washed blanket and covers the beautiful green-eyed creature._

_“I’ll get you some water and painkillers,” Clarke says when the other girl clutches her head, seemingly experiencing a bad occurrence of a headache._

_As she turns to leave for the kitchen, a strong hand grips her wrist and a quick heave was enough to lift Clarke off the ground. Just as she lands on top of Lexa, she inhales sharply, taken aback by the unforeseen force before a pair of firm legs wrapped around her hips and whirled her around, Lexa now dominating._

_Clarke’s world had been turned upside down in a matter of seconds, giving her no time to comprehend the situation she had been directed into. Their faces are only a few inches apart now, both taking in the deep green and blue in each other’s eyes too willingly and too soon, neglecting the issues surrounding them and minding their own. Lexa’s gaze descends to find Clarke’s slightly parted lips, pausing momentarily before crashing into them with her own like a tidal wave, soft yet purposeful and explosive. Clarke hesitates to return the kiss,_ this is wrong, _but ultimately her forbidden desire conquers the inner self-proclaimed duel, and she hates herself for that._

_“Please don’t go, Costia.” Lexa murmurs against her lips, Clarke’s visions lucid again._

_It is too much for her to bear, and she feels the need to escape the cascade that is inundating her. Her heart is stinging and blazing, as if a strong corrosive acid had just been poured all over it and she can’t stay to observe the reaction. She feels nauseous. Hurt. Used. Tears begin to form behind her eyes as she pulls away from Lexa, and she’s looking anywhere but at_ her _._

_She shoots Lexa an incredulous look before shoving the heavy-lidded girl to her side, suddenly finding herself not caring anymore._

_“So this is what it’s about, huh? Costia?” Clarke didn’t need the tears, but she can’t stop them._

_The anger rising up her throat is insurmountable; she blames herself for being so powerless over her feelings._ She will always choose Costia first, always. Give it up, Clarke _. Defeated, she doesn’t glance back to ensure her best friend is safe and tucked; instead she leaves without a note, because Lexa is probably not going to remember who brought her back home anyway._


	2. everyone's a little broken

_Classical music plays in the background through the small speakers of her iPod, its volume just loud enough to reach Clarke’s eardrums without breaking her concentration. A sketchbook sits on her study table, undisturbed and closed, as she lightly taps the tip of her graphite pencil against the wooden surface, as if doing so can generate profound ideas from the core of her heart. However, like popcorn kernels, they don’t pop unless the applied heat is sufficient to create a reaction. Clarke has been staring at the cover of her sketchbook for a good thirty minutes and the lack of creativity at this crucial hour is taking her patience away._

_Unable to sit still much longer, she drops the pencil in her hand, and it lands on the table with a soft_ twack _and rolls off to the carpeted floor. Clarke strides pass it to reach for her phone idling on her unmade bed, and a second later she finds herself dialing Raven’s number._

_“Clarkey! What’s up?” Raven picks up almost immediately, despite sounding busy on the other end of the line._

_“An euphoric Raven is just what I need right now,” Clarke says, jumping on her bed as she thinks about how great it would be to be able to sleep tonight._

_“I’m sensing a very dark vibe from you, Clarke Griffin. Care to share?”_

_“Nothing’s coming to me. Like, nothing at all. This assignment’s due on Wednesday and I’ve literally done nothing. Not even a sketch! I need inspirations, badly,” Clarke sighs, frustration shadowing every end of her words._

_“I think you need a break._ Maybe _have a drink or ten.”_

_“Again, I apologize for ruining your night,” Clarke chuckles at the unpleasant memory._

_Clarke can see the sly smirk forming on Raven’s face; two weeks ago they were invited to a good friend Bellamy’s seventeenth birthday party and while it was grand, it wasn’t the best experience for Clarke, maybe worse for Raven. Clarke had too much of Bellamy’s very own mix ‘Trigedasleng’, and ended up filling an empty jug with the contents of her stomach, leaving a clear-headed Raven no choice but to take care of her and bring her home._

_“Yeah, forget I suggested that. Once bitten twice shy they say," Raven laughs at her use of idioms, "But really, you should take a break.”_

_It’s true. Clarke needs a break. She has been working excessively for the past few weeks, visiting the school library more often than her own bedroom. Now that her exams are over, she thinks she should cut herself some slack and loosen up a bit._

_“Come over then. We’ll watch a movie or play Scrabble,” Clarke suggests._

_“I can’t,” Raven groans. “I’ve got an important Physics test tomorrow and I’ll be up all night revising.”_

_“Well, unlucky for you then,” Clarke replies sarcastically._

_They chat for another ten minutes, mostly about how tedious their lessons have been and how Mr Pike, their irksome Geography teacher, farts in one corner of the classroom thinking nobody would notice. With Raven on speaker, their laughter meld into some sort of melody that removes a bit of tension off Clarke. Raven ends the call first, using ‘I really have to study if I am to ace this shit!’ as her form of saying good night._

 

_Fifteen seconds later the screen of Clarke’s phone lights up, displaying a text message from Raven which reads ‘Sorry again Clarkey. Will make it up to you! Don’t miss me too much. Xxx’. It is amazing how three short sentences and a few kisses can enliven her and convey their purpose; the text brings a smile to Clarke’s face._

_Clarke replies with ‘Love you xxx’ and switches her phone to silent mode before putting it face-down on the nightstand. Letting out a sigh, she gets off her bed and walks to her study table, making another attempt at starting her task. When she fails to grip hold of a creative image, she gives up and slides out of her swivel chair, grabbing her phone before leaving her lifelong shelter in just a baggy T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants._

_“Where are you going at this hour?” Abby asks as Clarke removes an apple from the fridge._

_“Out for a walk,” Clarke answers, taking a mouthful bite of the fruit._

_“Alright. Be safe. Call me if anything happens,” Abby says like any mother would to their children, and Clarke hums as a response._

 

_**_

_The night is surprisingly quiet and chilly, unlike the weekends when asphalt paths are always packed with people, either constantly on their phones or greedily munching their sandwiches, ignoring the curses obstreperous drivers cry out when automatically operated green lights change to red. The air smells of cigarettes and faint perfumes, somehow when mixed together create a unique scent which serves as a reason to why this place is home._

_Clarke doesn’t mind the silence though; it soothes the strung out muscles in her body that she gets from her daily struggles to keep up with school work. It allows a sense of serenity, even the tiniest quantity, to erode her anxiety and replace it with rightful freedom. It’s what she needs right now anyway._

_A cuss escapes her mouth when her stomach grumbles, and she regrets skipping dinner earlier. Abby had made beef stew and rocket salad with wafu dressing, two of her finest dishes, and Clarke had foolishly chosen her homework over the five-star meal._

_Thankfully there is a McDonald’s nearby and she is glad she doesn’t have to starve the way back home. Usually Clarke is picky about the food she consumes, especially on a weekday when she shouldn’t stray from eating healthy._ Maybe this will help me work better _, she thinks, cracking a little at her groundless logic. She orders a chicken burger and a bottle of Diet Coke, grateful there was a ten-dollar note in one of the pockets of her sweatpants, and in matter of minutes there is nothing but wisps of lettuce and bread crumbs left on the tray._

_Thinking about the time, she glances at her wristwatch gifted by her loving watchmaker father on her tenth birthday. A twinge of sadness sweeps over her as she runs her thumb across the watch crystal, eyeing a scratch that bears too much misery. The watch no longer works, however she tries to repair it, its hands stay stationary, its functions long gone. She hates that it has given up on her too._

_Clarke walks out of the fast food restaurant, once again breathing in the chemicals that have diffused and claimed the surrounding air. A left turn and straight down would bring her back home, and so she takes it. One step forward was all it took to change her life forever. A pair of green eyes, so beautiful, is looking into hers and Clarke swears her heart skipped a beat. She is too immersed to notice the furrow above them, let alone what she has done to lead to this moment._

_The girl in front of her bends down to pick her books up, apparently fallen out of her arms when Clarke stumbled upon her. She scowls at the culprit defiantly, as if about to pummel her with her bare fists. Clarke is still staring at her, mouth slightly open but wordless, so she decides to break the human statue._

_“Are you going to apologize at all for running into me?” Her voice, unfriendly and stern, manages to snap Clarke’s stare._

_“What?” Clarke blinks thrice, “Oh, I’m sorry about that. I’m Clarke.”_

_Clarke holds out a hand, to which the girl responds with, “Could’ve used that to pick up the books that are now stained with mud thanks to you.”_

Rude, _Clarke thinks as she pulls her arm back, losing some of her dignity to this impertinent but_ beautiful _stranger. The brunette moves around her to pass, her scent a perfect blend of green apples and passion fruit permeating the air encompassing the other girl, dizzying her. When Clarke finally gets hold of herself again, a step forward is stopped by the same voice, only now behind her._

_“By the way, Clarke,” She turns around swiftly to face the brunette, ignoring the way her heart is thudding against her chest when she sees the green ocean from afar._

_"You’ve got a little mustard there,” the girl says, her face stoic as she lifts an index finger to her own face and hovers it over her upper lip._

Oh my God. _Clarke immediately wipes a rough hand over her mouth, embarrassment overwhelming her to the point where she just wants to dig a hole and jump right in. The beat her heart is making becomes thunderous each passing second, and fainting can very well happen any time. Before she can ensure her face is completely free from anymore possible leftover of her dinner, the girl about fifteen feet away speaks again._

_“Maybe you should take your jacket off as well.”_

_“What?” Clarke’s eyes widen at the out of the blue suggestion._

_“You’re turning red. I figure the cool air can help you with that.”_

_The girl is mocking Clarke in the open, and rage is what should be filling her stomach, but she can’t stop the butterflies from appearing, claiming territories without having to battle it out. Clarke sees the other girl’s lips curl up slightly as she turns around, her soft brown curls dancing to a steady rhythm in the moonlight as she strolls away. And just like that, a complete stranger overturns the verdict._

_When Clarke returns home with new artistic ideas bursting in her head, she grabs her pencil from where she left it on the floor, and let her fingers work in concord to put imaginations to life. Soon a blank page turns into a drawing of the night sky, alluring and expressive; stars gleaming still, their lights reflected by the expanse of the gravel ground. A distance away from the picture’s point of view, a girl sits on a bench next to an overgrown tree, gazing at the sky like it's heaven; their silhouettes clear against the stretch of the dimming region. There is no one else, just her and the breathtaking background._

_Clarke names it ‘Spellbound’._

_**_

_“Did you cry when the movie ended because you wished I was there,” Raven asks as she settles down in her seat next to Clarke, who snorts without looking up._

_There is a knock on the door which doesn’t seem to attract any attention from the crowd except their English teacher. Clarke continues to doodle on her notebook, her eyes still heavy from lack of sleep, when the teacher clears his throat to draw the students’ attentions._

_"This is Alexandria Woods. She will be joining us as of today, so make her feel welcomed,” Mr Kane says, surprising everyone with his softer and more welcoming tone than usual._

_“Hi.”_

_As if a witch had just cast a spell on her, the fatigue she was submerged in instantly vanishes when she hears that voice, so familiar and so close. Clarke lifts her eyes at the awkward greeting, evidently surprised to see that it is indeed the girl she met outside McDonald’s last night. She watches Alexandria move towards an empty seat, two rows in front of hers, the girl’s gaze stays on the floor._ Does she not remember me?

_“Who would like to give Miss Woods here a tour around the school during break time?” Mr Kane questions, scanning across the room for a volunteer._

_Clarke shoots up a hand immediately, her excitement no longer suppressed, “I’ll do it!”_

_Alexandria turns around, leveling her eyes with Clarke’s in a heartbeat. The green in her eyes look brighter than the night before, and it is enough to make Clarke smile. The other girl however, doesn’t and spins back around, causing a flush of disappointment to rush inside Clarke._

_The bell rings only fifteen minutes later but it felt like six hours to Clarke. Throughout the lesson she wasn’t focusing, even the teacher pointed it out when a question regarding the book they had finished reading went unanswered for as long as a minute. Normally when that happens, the student would be asked to stay back and discuss with the teacher, but since Clarke has picked up a new commitment, Mr Kane has no choice but to let her go._

_Clarke loses Alexandria when she was pulled back for a moment, but it didn’t take her long to find her in the hallway lined with lockers on both sides._

_“So,” Clarke says as she approaches the girl, trying her best not to run to her side, “Alexandria, huh?”_

 

_“I’m surprised you managed to find your locker so quickly, considering you’ve only been out here for like, five minutes,” Clarke tries again, this time the other girl reacts._

_Alexandria turns over her shoulder to face Clarke with flaring eyes, “I’m not dumb. I know to ask around.”_

_“Oh, is that so? Then I guess I don’t have to show you around the school.”_

_“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.”_

_“So you do remember me,” Clarke says, trying to pacify her fluttering heart when Alexandria says her name with a sharp click on the ‘k’._

_Alexandria dismisses her with a shrug. Her back now facing Clarke, she steps away from her locker, wrapping her arms around her History folder like any other student does. Her cocky attitude is starting to irritate Clarke, but before she can decide whether to yell at the brunette or leave her be, Alexandria stalls._

_“It’s just Lexa,” she says without turning around, “and I think you owe me a tour, Clarke.”_

_“Thought you’d never ask, Lexa.”_

_Clarke rushes to her side, and just misses a smile on her new friend’s face._

 

* * *

 

 

The drive back to her apartment felt long; too long and dreadful. It felt like she was returning to a strange and alienated place where she doesn’t belong. She struggles to insert her key into the lock with her shaky hands; they have been shaking for hours now, since the moment her best friend left her at the boarding gate, broken and tongue-tied.

 

Her breathing is beginning to grow erratic and rapid, and she is close to having a panic attack. She hasn’t experienced anything like this since Costia left nine months ago, no goodbyes said.

 

The flat feels so dull and stuffy, pitch-black on its own, and Lexa doesn’t switch the lights on nor push the windows open. Her steps are wobbly and sporadic when she reaches for her drawer to extract a cigarette from its pack, her free hand picking up the lighter lying next to a bunch of recycled pamphlets. The device is out of fuel, no matter how she tries it won’t light up.

 

“You’re giving up on me too, aren’t you?” Lexa screams over the loud crash that came when the lighted collided with the wall.

 

Her cheeks are now wet with tears, tears she never expected, tears she never wanted. The uprising anger is becoming uncontrollable, like a tornado striking, and she needs something to fight it off. As she takes a few stomping steps forward, about to storm out her apartment, a particular black coat hanging on a peg attached on the wall next to the door catches her eyes. She has never seen it before, so she is fairly certain that it doesn’t belong to her. Running her fingers through the garment, she finds a name tag sewed delicately to the inner part of its collar, hidden from sight. The name rings a bell.

 

**

 

It is half past ten when Lexa enters the renowned pub, the one she was dragged to by her best friend on a harrowing Saturday night. Lola’s is lively, as usual, and she is greeted by smiling waiters as they serve customers their choices of drinks. As she ensconce herself in one of the stools by the bar, she lets the racy ambiance of the pub drift her thoughts back to the event that led to her discovery of this place.

 

_“Come on! You’ll like it!” Clarke pulls a very dejected Lexa, whose eyes remain on the dirty ground, by the arm._

_As they make their way to the entrance, a man, bald-headed and muscular, stops them with a palm raised inches away from Clarke, and she takes this time to think of convincing solutions to let them through. Lexa looks at Clarke with a raised eyebrow, as if to telepathically ask ‘_ Are you sure about this _?’ to which Clarke responds with a quick tiny wink. He eyes them both suspiciously, his hand extends outwards as he waits expectantly for some sort of gift._

_“I’m gonna have to see your IDs before I can let you in, ladies.”_

_“Oh yeah. Sure, just give me a second.” Clarke fakes a smile as she pretends to rummage through her purse._

_“Carl, my man!” A vaguely seductive voice exclaims from behind._

_The girls turn to see a pretty brunette striding towards them, her heels clicking as they hit the ground with each elegant step. She is wearing a low-cut black dress that manifests every curve of her body, her lipstick too red for Clarke's liking but nonetheless praises her overall appearance. She looks at least twenty five years old, and certainly a regular at Lola’s._

_“Anya.” The man – Carl – greets the woman with a nod._

_“They’re with me,” Anya says, giving Carl a pat on the shoulder._

_The older woman motions towards the door with her head, mentally asking them to follow suit, loud music now buzzing its way into their ears. She receives several nods of acknowledgement from customers and waiters as she makes her way to the bar, where a shot glass filled with dark brown liquid  is already served to her._

_“Two more for my girls,” Anya says to the bartender, taking a seat on one of the rotatable stools._

_“Been a while, An!” Clarke gives her a short, squeezing hug._

_“Missed your face, Griffin. Who’s your friend?”_

_“Oh. Lexa, this is Anya. She owns this place.”_

_Lexa's jaws drop in awe, her eyes running wild as she takes in red, green, blue and purple glinting in the dark, people’s conversations like whispers over the music._

_“Nice to meet you, Lexa. I’ve heard a lot of things about you from Clarke.”_

_“Only good ones, I hope. This place is amazing,” Lexa says, her hands dancing back and forth as though they can speak for her honest opinions._

_Anya responds with a wide smile, and says, “Drink as much as you like. It’s on the house. I’m gonna say hi to the folks over there.”_

_Clarke mouths a thank-you, her eyes trailing the older brunette as she excuses herself to a table behind them, surrounded by a group of late-twenty-year olds, all dressed in rather smart attires. She isn’t surprised by the broad friendship circles Anya has; she is very sociable and outgoing, and she runs this place after all. When Clarke turns her attention back to Lexa, astonishment washes all over her face when she realizes the amount of booze Lexa has consumed._

_“Whoa there. Slow down Commander,” Clarke says in a reprimanding tone, gripping Lexa’s wrist to hold back her fifth shot._

_Lexa huffs, the alcohol starting to take its toll in her gut, and blurts, “Didn’t realize I brought a mom along.” She puts the glass down when Clarke doesn’t slacken her grip._

_The blonde clears a throat, straightens her back, her voice drops to imitate Lexa's, “Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Lexa.”_

_A small chuckle escapes the victim’s mouth, “Funny, Clarke.”_

_“I’m glad you appreciate my humor.”_

 

_“So how did you meet Anya? Although I have to say, what she did outside is illegal,” Lexa states as-a-matter-of-factly. Her fingers wrap around the same glass, sneakily she makes another attempt at downing the shot of whiskey without being interrupted again. Clarke notices, but she doesn’t stop her this time._

_Grabbing her own shot of tequila, she drinks it quickly, letting out a groan and grimacing as the strong liquor burns the walls of her throat like wildfire. “By chance, really. I was wandering alone one night in the alley, just around here. Two really drunk guys started harassing me and she came to my rescue, kicking their asses, showing no mercy at all.”_

_Clarke continues to share her tale for as long as five minutes; details of the vicious retaliation that took place after they were knocked down, and how she tried to fight them off herself but ended up with a fractured arm. An airy laugh escapes her lungs as the memory resurfaces, only then realizing Lexa hasn’t been listening to half of what she said. A frown forms on Clarke’s lips as she slumps against the counter, resting her chin on her fist, and eyes the brunette gently and with concern._

_“Do I want to know why you’re acting like this?” Clarke asks heedfully, her gaze still poised on Lexa, an upset, unsmiling Lexa. The pub is still packed, still rowdy, but somehow silence falls between them, growing impermeable and thick. After having received no response from her, Clarke endeavors to flatten the hush.“If you don’t want to talk about i-”_

_“Costia left.” The words were stuck in her throat for a minute but she manages to choke them out. It only took two words to shatter her, into pieces, millions of pieces which are now scattered and lost. Two simple words; one name and one verb, are enough to stir unwanted emotions within her. Wrath, despair, frustration. The inability to understand Costia’s decision no matter how hard she tries is eating her inside. Fresh hot tears slowly come to light, trickling down her cheeks without permission, she buries her eyes in her palms to stop them, but they keep coming._

_Clarke hears her own heart breaking into half, then quarters when she perceives how hurt her best friend is. She doesn’t know Costia personally, but Lexa often mentions her, although her personality has never been a subject in their discussions. Lexa normally puts on a strong front and is far from destructible, but seeing her in this state, Clarke realizes how important Costia must be to her, and this emanates a significant level of pain in her. She wants to hug her, to tell her she is and will always be here for her._

_And she does._

_Clarke’s arms find their way around the fragile being, wrapping her with warmth, and slowly pulls her into an embrace. She feels Lexa tremble beneath her like a soaked puppy, and half expects the girl to pull back because_ ‘feelings are weak’, _but she doesn’t. Instead, the brunette leans into the comfort, ignoring the words she has so adamantly lived by, because this is what she needs right now. Clarke, her best friend, is who she needs right now._

_Clarke sees Anya’s smirk over the soft curls of Lexa's hair, blurred by flashing lights. She is aware of the looks people are giving them, puzzled and nosy, pointing in their direction like they are caught in some act of embezzlement. None of those things matters in this moment, because all she wants is for her best friend to be safe, in her arms, knowing that when tomorrow comes, she will still be there, looking out for her._

 

 

Lexa is brought back to reality when a hand waves inches from her face, her eyes blink twice at the sudden motion. The tall blonde male stands behind the counter smiles, and says, “Hey there. Good to see you again. What can I get you?”

 

 _I’ve seen him before_. She squints to get a clearer view at his silver polished badge, and recognizes him as the waiter who served her two nights ago. Lifting the black garment over the counter, she asks, “Is this by any chance yours?”

 

“Oh yes, this is mine,” he says politely, treating the coat like it was an early Christmas present rather than an old belonging. “Actually I was going to tell your friend you could keep it. It was cold that night. Thanks anyway.”

“Wait. My friend?”

“Yeah. Blonde hair, blue eyes. About your height, maybe an inch or two shorter,” Aden describes, his hands move quickly to mix drinks as the list of orders lengthens.

 

That’s when Lexa remembers. She remembers coming here alone two nights ago, feeling extremely out of place, lonely, wanting to drown herself in pools of musky alcohol. She remembers calling Clarke after her twelfth shot of spirit, drunk and barely holding it together, subsequently collapsing to the icy bitumen ground. The rest of the night remains hazy but for one; she hadn't returned to her apartment on her own. Clarke came out in the cold and brought her home.

 

Lexa leaves the pub half an hour later, after only a lager. She is sober when she arrives at her apartment door, throwing her keys on the countertop as she enters the hall. Letting out a sigh, she dips into the snug couch, thankful she hadn’t let too much alcohol take over her body. The only sound filling the air is her respiration, slow but forceful, almost like an impossible task to pull and push air in and out of her chest.

 

She hears a soft knock on the door at almost midnight, but she doesn’t bother shifting off the comfortable couch. She’s too tired to face another potential quarrel with an indignant neighbor, probably using the clink of her keys as a fuel to build the argument. As soon she shut her eyes, the knock comes again, this time remotely louder than the former. Grunting, she walks to the door, unlocks and swings it open, ready to bellow at whoever is standing on the other side.

 

When the light reflects off the person in front of her, her vision focuses even with her heavy eyes. This person, a girl, is standing there, offering a tight-lipped smile. Her features seem painfully familiar to Lexa, her senses tell her from the back of her head. Lexa stares for a little bit longer, her brow furrows as she thinks deeply, but her thoughts are broken when this girl speaks, her voice light and almost inaudible.

 

“Hello Lexa. It’s been a while.”

 

Lexa freezes when the words register, her eyes widen in shock as though a phantom is communicating with her. The sight sends tremors down every tip of her nerves, every inch of her skin, every bone in her body.

 

“Costia?”


	3. us is long gone

_Darkness is all she sees from every corner of her eyes, and it only thins out when they flutter open, allowing light to make a harsh entrance. The brightness of the surrounding is so piercing it takes more than three blinks to adjust her vision, an energy-consuming effort at this instant. She finds herself lying on the tiled ground, its coldness creeping around the areas in contact with her body. Warily, she gets up from the floor, scanning across the hollow room from wall to wall, taking in the much whiter and plainer setting unlike anywhere she had been before._ This has got to be a dream.

_“Hello?” She calls out from the spot, and the only reply she receives is her own question, bouncing off the thin walls into her ears two seconds later._

 

_Taking a few steps to the right, she leaves the room and finds that she has led herself to an empty passageway. It looks like an underground tunnel from where she is standing, only illuminated dimly by two light bulbs, aligned a hundred and fifty feet apart. She curses silently when she accidentally kicks a stool in the middle of her tracks, blaming the dilapidated objects for her poor vision._

_“Lexa.”_

_A soft reverberating whisper of her name from behind causes Lexa to turn around, the hair on the back of her neck stands sharp. “Hello? Who’s there?”_

_“Lexa. It’s me,” the voice replies almost immediately, although it is softer than before. It belongs to a female, Lexa is sure of it. It sounds so painfully familiar, like a song she has been listening to all her life. And then it hits her;_ Clarke? _She wants to call out to her. She wants to run to the source of the voice as fast as she can because she misses her best friend. Before she could take a step in any direction, she feels a cold hand on her shoulder; the touch so gentle it tickles. Lexa turns to see a face she knew too well to forget; it_ is _Clarke._

_“Clarke!” Lexa exclaims elatedly when the confirmation registers. Not wasting another second, she pulls the other girl into a tight embrace. A wide smile forms on her lips when the girl doesn’t push her away like she had expected her to._

_“I’m sorry for being such an idiot,” Lexa mutters, her voice apologetic and sincere._ I’m sorry, _she repeats in her head when the memory from the night at the airport appears, her heart aches with remorse, wishing she had done whatever she could to make Clarke stay. But for now, things have taken a turn, and all she wants now is to do the right thing._

_It shouldn’t surprise Lexa at all when Clarke doesn’t return the hug, but she can’t stop the pang in her heart when her best friend doesn’t say anything. A heavy sigh escapes her lungs, and she shuts her eyes momentarily to compose herself before she breaks the contact, bracing herself for a possible punch in the face._

_The first thing that comes into view is the unperturbed blue in the eyes of her best friend, the same shade she has grown to appreciate and adore in the three years of their friendship. She senses something different about Clarke; something so foreign as though she has gone to a dark place and never made it back. There is no longer a soul existing in those once ebullient eyes; all she sees is darkness._ Darkness.

_Lexa frowns at the extremely unusual behavior, but she keeps her eyes leveled with Clarke’s, studying them like an experiment, but she is unable to comprehend the other girl. Carefully clutching the blonde’s shoulders with her hands, she asks, “Are you okay, Clarke?”_

_Clarke offers no vocal response, but a blank smile just vaguely forms on her face. It is strange, but it is a good enough reaction that Lexa drops her head in relief, slowly releasing the air she has been holding in for as long as she can remember. She notices droplets of crimson liquid on the floor, like uneven circles drawn in color, and lifts her head up to more red stained on the blonde’s shirt._

_“You’re bleeding!” Lexa pushes her palm against Clarke’s stomach, putting enough force to avoid too much blood loss._

_Clarke doesn’t flinch like she should. She simply looks at Lexa, her face still as calm as before. Lexa feels panic flood in her system, replacing every atom in her body so rapidly it is impossible to cease the process, and Lexa wants her best friend to snap out of it._

_“Lexa. Lexa!”_

 

Her body jerks forward and transitions into a rigid sitting position, panting as though she has been underwater for too long, gasping for oxygen when she finally breaks surface. Sweat dribbles down her forehead as she takes in short and rapid breaths to push back the adrenaline and regulate her heartbeat. Clarke was dead. She was going to be.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. Just a bad dream,” Costia says, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ears that were covering Lexa’s face .

 

Lexa sighs heavily, but she isn’t sure of what she is feeling. She hates that she can’t run to Clarke’s house to make sure she is okay, hates that she can’t hug the life out of her after that. Her head hurts with these thoughts swimming around, so she rubs her temple a bit too hard, hoping to soothe the throbbing muscles.

 

“I’ll get you some painkillers,” Costia says, moving off the bed to get up.

 

“I’m okay. Really, I just need some rest. It’s been a long night.” It’s a lie, and she knows it better than anyone else.

 

Lexa grabs Costia’s hand as she was just about to stand, gives it a squeeze when their eyes meet, exchanging anything but words. It’s a good thing they both find solace in each other this way, no matter how scant or temporary it may be, after all they have been through they deserve it. It definitely brings back an old ardor from when they were younger, freer and in love, unworried about how time seems to always move forward even when one struggles to catch up.

 

Costia eyes her skeptically for a moment, but decides to comply when Lexa lays back down, shifting to her side so that her back is facing the other girl.

 

Lexa picks her phone and types, ‘Please call me when you arrive.’ She pauses, contemplates erasing it but her thumb acts quicker than her brain, pressing send before she could think it through. Putting it face-down on the nightstand, she closes her eyes, searches for serenity in the mist, but everything eludes her that night, sleep being one of them.

 

* * *

 

_“Hello Lexa. It’s been a while.”_

_“Costia?”_

_The slim figured, brown-eyed beauty offers a tight-lipped smile, which somehow matches the penitent look on her face. The guilt is written all over her, like it’s the worst feeling she has ever had to feel. She leans forward hesitantly, her arms slowly wrap around the girl just three feet away, embraces her into a hug like it’s the final moment of her life._

_Lexa stands there unmoving, clearly stunned by the fact that Costia is back and is holding her right now._ Maybe it’s all a dream _, she thinks to herself. She doesn’t return the hug; instead she stiffens at the proximity that was once comfortable and life-giving._

_“I’ve missed you so much,” Costia whispers near her ear, her breath hot against Lexa’s skin there._

_It proves to be too much to ingest when Lexa doesn’t answer in any way. It takes a full minute to remember the emotions she was feeling when the older one left; wrath, despair, frustration. She grabs the arms around her roughly, detaching herself so that there is enough distance between them. Then green meets brown again, this time more undaunted, Lexa feels the anger boiling in her gut when the past flashes in her mind._ She never said goodbye. You were never important to her, Lexa.

_“No,” Lexa says steely, her head shakes in repetitive motion as she manifests her assertive character. “No, you can’t do this. You can’t just show up at my door when you feel like it.”_

 

_“I’m sorry, Lex.”_

 

_“No!” She shouts at the girl, her eyes flaring with hatred and the look on Costia’s face doesn’t appease her anger. Maybe she’s done caring. Everyone she cares about leaves._

 

_“Hear me out, please,” Costia begs, her hands only hovering near Lexa’s, afraid that one touch might cause further disintegration._

 

_“I don’t want to hear it. You left, Costia. You left me and you –” Words are flowing out too promptly and too freely, with no boundaries, no limitations. Her argument is about as eloquent as it can be, and then –_

 

_“I was abducted!” Costia screams over the volume of Lexa’s voice._

_Time  comes to an abrupt standstill. Her lips are still slightly separated but no words are being delivered anymore. She finds herself in a state where confusion holds the supreme role, hopes of understanding completely beaten out in the battlefield._

_Her features soften when Costia no longer puts on a strong front, allows herself to break down in front of the person she loves, tears running down her cheeks at the revelation. Suddenly the hall is silent, as though the air around them stills and stales, the busy city outside dies down so quickly, losing its life to this moment._

_**_

_“Here.” Lexa hands a mug, hot with chamomile tea, to Costia who is sitting on the sofa, calmer now that the truth is out._

_“Thanks,” she says in a whisper just loud enough for the both of them to hear._

 

_The clock on the wall reads 2AM, but they are both very wide awake. How can they sleep, when problems are laid out and waiting to be solved._

_A moment of silence once again dominates the air in Lexa’s apartment, far from ventilating even though the windows are now opened. The only sound encompassing them is the soft sipping of tea, blazing against the walls of her throat as she recalls the unfortunate occurrence. Lexa eyes Costia mindfully, finding herself once again assimilating her facial features and sweet scent. She has lost a lot of weight since the last time they were together, and as much as Lexa wants to question her about what happened, she can’t bear to see Costia splinter again._

_She places a hand on the other girl where her fingers are hugging the exterior of the mug, like it is the only thing providing her with warmth. Costia lifts her head at the motion, looks into the green expanse and lets it sweep her off. Giving a small smile, Lexa says, “I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”_

_Costia responds with a nod Lexa almost misses, feeling suffocated in the chest when she tries to formulate words. It isn’t something she can speak out to whoever is around, but with Lexa, it’s another world. She trusts Lexa with all her heart._

_Closing her eyes, she inhales deeply, hoping to reel in some courage to begin and end the tormenting story without breaking into pieces like she did before. But it might be easier said than done. It is always easier said than done._

_“Nine months ago, I did leave.”_

_Hearing those words in real life now, it hurts. It hurts so much like a deep wound is slit open when it has only been healed, the process long and exerting but the result short-lived. Lexa feels her heart drop, reaches the bottom of the ocean with minimal chance of retrieving it. She looks anywhere but at Costia, afraid that if she does, a conflagration-like pain would have no choice but to be combusted, and she would have no choice but to swallow it down._

_“I never told you about my parents. I never told anyone about them.” Costia admits, running her thumb around the rim of her mug._

 

_“I grew up thinking they were dead, gone, and being raised by an abusive uncle, it was turning me crazy.” She laughs dryly, trying to mask her dismay, but Lexa knows it’s her way of self-comforting. “I received an anonymous call two days before I left. He mentioned that he had reliable information on my biological parents.”_

_“He said my parents are alive and they wanted to see in person, but not publicly. They were involved in some politics shit. Didn’t want to risk me messing their careers up,” she continues._

_“They made it clear that they only wanted to see me, and you were busy revising for your big end of year exams. I didn’t want to be the reason you would get a 99 percent in any of them when you could easily score a perfect mark.” Costia chuckles a little, and Lexa does too when she is reminded of her perfectionism._

_“I was going to go away for just the weekend. See my parents, demand for an explanation and leave. But it’d be a lie if I said I didn’t carry hope. I did want them to accept me, take me in for who I am, but I knew it was not going to be easy at all.”_

_The older brunette lays the mug on the coffee table just an arm’s length away, its heat suddenly gone with the wind of her story. She releases an airy breath, lips quiver at the thoughts, but she rediscovers strength when Lexa holds her hand to offer reassurance._

_“I got there at three in the morning, and there was this woman outside the airport, holding a piece of paper that had my name written on it. She told me she was working for my parents and that they have arranged her to pick me up and bring me to them. I sensed something very wrong with the whole thing, but I decided to conceal my sixth sense. The next thing I knew we were going South, with a blindfold covering my eyes and ropes binding my hands and feet.”_

_Her voice starts to tremble, cracking at some ends. The tracks of tears, now visible as they are reflected by the moonlight, reveal a still traumatized Costia, the incident had clearly snatched parts of her. Lexa renders what she can, gives a squeeze of support, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”_

_“I was blindfolded for days. My hands were tied for so long my wrists started to bleed. I had so little to drink, almost nothing to eat. Those bastards,” Costia chokes._

_“I couldn’t see where I was, but I could hear people conversing outside the room I was held captive in. They spoke in a funny accent that I’ve never heard before.”_

_“What did they want?” Lexa questions, almost in an interrogating voice as the anger climbs its way up her throat, internally fuming when she realizes the misery Costia went through in the past months._

_Costia pauses momentarily, fixing her eyes into Lexa's. “They wanted to know about_ you _.”_

_The shock becomes apparent when Lexa’s eyes widen and her lips part. She pulls her hand away incredulously, causing the other girl to lock her gaze. Lexa, however, looks away. It is then she notices the start of a mark on the back of Costia’s neck, and a nasty scar is revealed when she pulls the cashmere sweater down low enough, much to the other girl’s surprise._

_“They did this to you?” Her voice is low, tinged with a layer of sadness and culpability._

_Costia nods, almost imperceptible. “I barely made it out. They said they would only release me if I told them everything about you. They were going to cut my head off, Lex.”_

_“Why didn’t you just tell them what they wanted to know?!” Lexa asks angrily, but her rage is never directed towards Costia. She should have protected Costia from those people._

_“I couldn’t betray you!” Costia cries, burying her face into the heels of her palms to stop the tears but they won’t surrender._

_“Even after everything, I would still choose you over my life.”_ You’re wrong, Costia. You can’t do that.

_Lexa grabs Costia by the shoulders and pulls her in for a firm but comforting hug, her heart feels like it has been sliced open, burnt and crushed. “I’m so sorry, Cos. This is all my fault.”_

_Her sobs are getting louder each passing second, even when held tightly in Lexa’s arms, Costia can’t stop her fears from consuming her. She feels the rapid pulses on Lexa’s neck as she leans in, and a sense of security alleviates her. They both hold each other for another minute before the brown-eyed brunette untangles herself from Lexa, stares intently into her eyes which are gleaming with fresh tears._

_“I missed you everyday,” Costia confesses in a whispering tone. She cups Lexa’s face gently, running a thumb across Lexa’s cheek where a tear fell, composing of both guilt and relief._

_Lexa raises a hand to clasp the other on her face, before replying, also in a tiny whisper, “Me too.”_

 

* * *

  

**THREE YEARS LATER**

Mondays are often depicted as the most dreadful day of the week because it seems like an inevitable obligation to rise early and go to school or work before dawn. The people of Polis are mostly panicky and impatient, but nothing Lexa can’t handle. She has been working at Polaris, a café just down the street from her apartment, as an occasional barista and a frequent errand runner. She used to come here all the time, with her best friend she hasn’t seen for three years now.

 

It is five-thirty in the morning, and she has been up for about half an hour now. Her alarm certainly did not wake her, but the sounds of excited birds chirping did. She slept really early the night before, blaming the amount of chores she was assigned to the previous day, by an extremely needy boss. Bellamy is great though.

 

The screen of her phone lights up, showing a text message from Costia. _Why is she up so early in the morning?_ She taps on the notification, which reads ‘Happy birthday Lex. Dinner at mine tonight? I’ll get Bellamy to sign you off early. :) xxx’

 

The girl smiles wholeheartedly. It’s that sort of a wonderful feeling you get, when you yourself forget your birthday but someone else thinks of it as an important date that they remember it. Lexa punches in, ‘Thank you. I’m sure Bellamy won’t mind. See you tonight. Xxx’

 

She lies on her bed, eyes on the white ceiling above her, pictures the expanse of the night sky with stars too far out in the galaxy. She closes her eyes at the thought of Clarke, how nice it would be to have her celebrate her twenty-first birthday. Unwillingly she gets off her comfortable bed, reaches for the wardrobe and withdraws a closed box. Lifting its lid, a framed drawing sits within the thick paper walls, looking new yet sentimental. It was a gift from Clarke to Lexa, for her eighteenth birthday, and a card came with it.

 

_‘Happy birthday Lex! I’m giving this to you, one because you’re my best friend and it’s your birthday, and two because I spent hours perfecting this with an unswerving passion. I hope you like it! Love, Clarke’_

A pang of past guilt thumps her chest when she reads the card over and over. Clarke never texted her back, never called to give her updates on her life. Lexa has had two birthdays without her best friend, the possibility that she will spend today with the blonde’s presence is minuscule. Lexa can’t be mad at her after all these years. _I wonder how you’re doing, Clarke._

 

 

**

 

‘We hope you have a nice stay in New York’ rings in her ears as she finally passes the glassy double doors, breathing in the city air with the smallest effort, carbon monoxide from motor vehicles and the greasy smell of fries from McDonald’s infusing the invisible space around her. Three years have passed, yet the thunderous honks of cars, the chattering of people of different races, the faint cheeping of energetic birds, they are all still the same. It feels as if nothing has changed.

 

A six feet tall, clean shaven dark haired man approaches her from behind, places one arm over her shoulder and his free hand pulls a suitcase to his side, leans in to kiss her temple.

 

“How does it feel to be back?” He asks, tugging her in slightly so that her head rests on his shoulder.

 

She snuggles into the offered comfort, wraps her arms around his waist, and ponders briefly before she answers, “A dream come true.” _I’m home again._

 

Their contact breaks when her phone rings, vibrating violently in the room of her handbag when she searches for it. She brightens up when she sees who is calling.

 

“Clarkey! Are you back yet?” Raven asks on the other end, so gleefully Clarke could practically see the little jumps she makes on her side.

 

“We just got here.” Clarke glances at Finn, who mouths ‘I’m going to get us a taxi’, and advances towards the busy taxi stand.

 

“Great! Do you want me to pick you up? You see, I just built this spectacular engine, tested its efficiency and it works twice as great as any other automobile you can find.”

 

Clarke chortles at the extremity, which triggers Raven to say, “I am a hundred percent serious here, Clarke Griffin.”

 

“I know, I know,” Clarke swallows another laugh. “It’s alright. Finn and I are going to get a cab. I’ll see you later?”

 

“Right. Dinner at 8?”

 

“Sure. Text me the address. We’ll be there.”

 

 

Somehow it really does feel like nothing much has changed in the past three years she was away from Polis. Everything is still where they are when she left, but it does feel strange to be coming back to her old apartment; it hasn’t been lived in since the day she chose to depart. The flat was given to her by her mother when she moved out of the house, although it stayed under Abby’s name until Clarke turned eighteen in the last year of high school. She hired a cleaning company to, on a monthly basis, dust inside out and keep it pristine without changing the interior presentation. Clarke did think about renting it out, she even considered selling it at a negotiable price, but in the end she decided to keep it. This day was bound to come; she was going to come back.

 

“This place is incredible!” Finn states as he falls onto the sofa, looking as though dozing off is his only aim. “Are you hungry?”

 

“Actually, I think I might go for a walk.”

 

Finn looks as Clarke disbelievingly, “Aren’t you tired? We’ve been in the air for hours. I’m dead beat.”

 

“I am, but it’s just. I haven’t been back for years. I want to have a look around, see if anything’s changed at all. There’s this café just round the corner, next to this really nice bookstore. I used to go there a lot when I was a kid.”

 

“Do you want me to come with?” He flicks an eye open that denotes  _please let me sleep_.

 

Letting out a small laugh, Clarke shakes her head no and says, “It’s fine. I know you’re very comfortable where you are. I’ll get you an Americano?”

 

“You know me the best babe.” He says wearily, his head deep in the softness of the square pillows.

 

Clarke can’t help but smile at the view so warm to her heart. She and Finn met two and a half years ago; she was studying Art and he was finishing his second year in Business and Finance. It was definitely not one of those stumble-upon meetings where the typical situation takes place in a bar or a club. He asked her out for the first time a month after they first encountered, to a not-too-fancy diner which Clarke very much prefers over a five-star-but-the-food-isn’t-that-great restaurant. Finn makes her feel safe, he brings out the good in her, and Clarke likes him very much.

 

Walking down the steep road does little good to Clarke’s already tired and achy legs. She praises herself for opting to wear her converse shoes, but they certainly don’t relieve the pain she is feeling in her calves. The weather, unlike what has been predicted on the forecast, is sunny but cool, and she is thankful she doesn’t have to carry an umbrella with her. She looks from left to right as she strolls down the street, passing by McDonald’s to another block of shops.

 

Soon a ‘House Special’ menu board comes into view, a list of meal options written in white chalk across its flat surface. Clarke halts in front of it, about to read the menu when she feels a sudden bump against her shoulder that she stumbles backwards, her right foot preventing a fall just in time.

 

**

 

“Lexa, please could you go out and get some milk? We ran out and the person who’s supposed to deliver the cartons here called in sick, so we won’t get any until tomorrow,” Bellamy says in the most polite tone Lexa has ever heard from him, knowing she can’t say no to him. He stretches out a hand with a hundred dollar note in it, a playful smirk forms on his face.

 

“It’s my birthday and yet you make me do this,” Lexa replies in a fake exasperated voice, her lips curl up slightly hinting a smile. “Sure, boss.”

 

Lexa removes the apron hanging loosely around her waist, accepts the cash and then reaches for her bag under the counter. Striding out the door of Polaris, she rummages through her bag to grab her phone, revealing a number of birthday greetings from her friends, including one from Anya whom she hasn’t seen in quite a while. Her eyes glue to the screen of her phone, multitasking as she takes a right to the supermarket, but she doesn’t realize she is walking directly into somebody. “I’m sor – ”

                  

“Whoa there. Slow down,” says the victim, trying not to sound irritated but the thought came a little late.

 

It’s that voice. The one she hasn’t heard for as long as she can remember. The one she has learned to recognize too well to not know. Lexa tilts her head up in the slowest possible pace, her heart pounding hard against her chest, eager to learn the identity of the owner of _the_ voice. In that very moment she finds hope again, after losing it to her former insensibility, but she knows very well she might be let down once again.

 

But the blue orbs focusing right into her are too familiar to miss. They are the blue she memorized unconsciously as each day passed, after befriending her in the most unexpected way, and they spent far too much time together for Lexa to forget. She notes the slight frown on the other woman’s face, but she doesn’t care. Lexa pulls her in for a hug, so swiftly it causes the blonde to gasp.

 

The embrace lasts for only a few seconds, with the blonde pulling away roughly from Lexa, a wisp of bewilderment tints over her face. When the bright oceans meet again, Lexa fails to detect the familiarity and resentment she has anticipated. Instead an abyss is what she witnesses, and her mouth falls wide open, dubious when Clarke speaks.

  

“Do I know you?”   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments! How do you like the story so far? Leave your thoughts in the comment box below, would love to hear them! xx


	4. forgetting you is unintentional

_It has been a long and protracted flight, her legs numb from a paucity of movements, but she is more than grateful to the pilots in the cockpit for the smooth landfall, despite having to keep their concentrations at high. A part of her wishes her head hadn’t been filled with complicated and contradicting thoughts throughout the journey, because the world she is currently in feels so jaded, and the chances of egressing seem unlikely._

_When she sets foot on the foreign soil at one in the morning, she becomes aware that she hasn’t slept for most of the hours on the flight. Her suitcase arrives at the mouth of the belt about fifteen minutes after she went through immigration, exchanging no more than a sleepy ‘thank you’ when the officer handed her passport back to her. She sighs, exhaustion taking over her system as she steps out of the airport into open space, cold air seeping into her skin even after she wraps her arms around herself, hoping to gather heat beneath the material of her sweater. People enter and leave through the colossal sliding entrance, chattering away as if the time of day doesn’t matter._ How are people so alive at such an ungodly hour?

_Clarke knows she is prone to making the worst decisions most of the time; in a span of three days (she presumes; jetlag is the one to blame) she has given herself a list of options and up till now she isn’t completely sure of the choices she has made. She was lucky enough to be able to purchase two air tickets to two different countries on the day itself. Hardly twenty four ago she arrived at the gates of Incheon International Airport in Seoul, thinking it would be the perfect place to start her summer vacation and her new life, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how she ended things with Lexa. The last encounter was heartbreaking, and she spent the flight from New York to Seoul wishing she had handled it better._

_This is the first time she has ever traveled alone afar from home, the first she has ever been out of America. She had only seen fragments of London in pictures online and read a few blog posts about Big Ben and the London Bridge, so she really doesn’t know what to expect from the city. Clarke makes her way to the taxi stand where a number of cabs are pulled over, their drivers waiting to render services any time. She hops on the third in line, inhaling a strong smell of tobacco cigarettes when she settles on the hard non-cushioned seats._

_“Where to, sweetheart?” The driver, who looks at least sixty eight, asks in a friendly tone, his accent thick it catches Clarke off-guard for a moment._

_“Arkadia, London.”_

_“That is really far out. Here on a holiday?” He asks, putting the key in the ignition, driving away after turning on the meter._

_“Kind of. I’m also here for an interview with the people from an art college,” Clarke answers politely, keeping her eyes out the window._

_“That’s a little cruel, isn’t it? Making you fly over for an interview during summer break. I would have declined if I were you.” The sound from the radio dies down when his hearty laugh takes over._

_Clarke smiles, feeling a little uncomfortable at the comment the man made and she doesn’t reply to void the possibility of sounding rude on her first day here. The view from where she is sitting is slightly more appealing once they are out of the bounds of Heathrow Airport. The asphalt roads are only irradiated by lampposts aligned in the middle, separating multiple lanes into a dual carriageway. She watches green, blue, red signboards pass by, one by one, almost illiterate due to darkness, headlights of automobiles shining onto them too briefly._

_Soon she drifts off to sleep, and the violent shakes generated by the constant collisions between rubber tires and little rocks on the roads don’t seem to bother her. She wakes up a three-quarter hour later when they reach a red traffic light, rubs her eyes to wipe away the doze as the aged man turns down the volume of the radio, catching a glance of the girl in the rear view mirror._

_“Long flight?” He asks, his voice gruff but more than welcoming._

_“Yes it was. I made the mistake of flying over to London immediately after a close-to fifteen hour flight.”_

_“Well, people do things they think are reasonable in the moment,” he states as-a-matter-of-factly, prompting Clarke to lift her eyes to meet his in the angled mirror. “You aren’t here just for the interview, are you sweetheart?”_

_Clarke hesitates when she hears the question. She shouldn’t be discussing her personal life with a stranger she had just met, but somehow she feels obligated to tell her story. “I left my apartment a few days ago because I couldn’t hold them in anymore.”_

_He presses on the accelerator when red changes to green. “Heartbreak?”_

_She gives an almost unnoticeable nod of admission, drawing out another hearty laugh from the elder. “I did that once when I was younger. Fell out of love. Wanted to leave the past behind and start anew.”_

_When she doesn’t respond, he asks, “Why did you take another flight?”_

_Clarke pauses for what seemed like an eternity, trying to form words in her head but they don’t come easily. “Me and her, we were best friends. But things never worked out between us.”_

_“The flight to Seoul was a diversion. I knew she would come and look for me, knowing where I was. It was only a matter of time. Maybe I was being delusional.”_

_She feels tears pricking her eyes when the night at the airport flashes in her mind, skinning off the soft scab that had just formed over her still-healing wound. Lexa has this effect on her; the ability to make her feel remorseful and guilty over things and their significance don’t matter. She clutches her head when the undesired remembrance becomes too much to control, her head aches with self-condemning voices rattling in its space._

_But the throbbing ceases when the wiser man speaks._

_“The same ones that break you are the same ones that shape you.” His tone is so light yet so powerful. “I’ve been married to my wife for,” he counts with his fingers, “forty years now. It has been as bumpy as a rollercoaster can be. We still bicker and argue like little kids fighting over toys, but that is also what keeps us together.”_

_“But I’m in love with someone who doesn’t love me back,” Clarke chokes, hearing her heart shatter at her own words._

_The man chuckles, bringing her attention back to him. She shoots him a puzzled look but he doesn’t catch it. “Someone you_ think who  _doesn’t love you back.”_

_“What?” She can only hope her inquiry didn’t come out rude._

_“Did you ask her about how she feels?”_

_She feels a qualm when his words register, but Clarke Griffin is known to be a stubborn soul. “That’s beside the point.”_

_“That_ is _the point, young lady.” His reply, stern and immediate, causes Clarke to shut her opened mouth, swallowing the building blocks of arguments back down her throat._

_“You may feel as if you are always giving in to the other person, always the propeller of things, and always the one wanting the best for others, but you fail to see your own qualities. What you need to do is to give yourself a chance.”_

_That is when everything hits her like an earthquake, sending tremors up every nerve and muscle in her body, the tears she was holding back now surging down her cheeks. They met barely an hour ago, but this ongoing conversation is one of the most intense interchange she has ever had. She feels heavy inside, suffocating in the chest, vast air stuck in her trachea and not willing to evade her._

_“I don’t think so,” her voice breaks a little, “She deserves someone better.”_

_“Be optimistic, not pessimistic. Everyone deserves a chance, especially you.”_

_Clarke sees the smile forming on his face, wrinkles showing near his chin, a clear reflection by the mirror. He reminds her of her father, a vitalizing and philosophical being. Maybe he’s right. Reaching her backpack, she searches for her phone which had fallen to the bottom, under piles of documents no longer in order. When she finds the device, she switches it on for the first time since she left Polis, notifies her with a text message dated two nights ago which reads ‘Please call me when you arrive.’_

_Her thumb hovers over the bright screen of her phone, above the name of the sender. She thinks whether she should give Lexa a call, if she even has the right to after she practically flounced out. She made her choice to leave Polis, to leave the friendship she treasures most and the person she has affection for. She thinks back to the brief intimate moment they had on Lexa’s bed, which wasn’t real in the slightest bit. Perplexity and trepidation coalesce into streams too great for her to avoid, tearing her into pieces as she grips the crumpled picture protruding out of her backpack._

_“Do you think I should call?” The words come out weak and almost inaudible._

_“I cannot tell you what you should or should not do, sweetheart. Follow your heart. Listen to it.”_

_Clarke releases a puff of air slowly, collecting courage in pieces as she ponders her own question. She comes down to a decision; she isn’t ready to hear Lexa’s voice because she is afraid she might splinter at its vulnerability, so she taps to send a message instead. ‘I’m safe, Lex. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.’_

_Before she could press send, a screeching noise almost deafens her, likely from the jarring friction between rubber tires and rugged bitumen. Her body jerks violently without permission, gaining momentum with each movement, ultimately sending her to the side of the door with a force too substantial to obstruct. She feels a blow to her head, hard and agonizing, blazing like hot fire, but she doesn’t scream at the impact. She tries to stay awake, but her vision blurs and fogs, inducing a feeling of nausea when she attempts to move. Thick crimson liquid quickly invades her sight, and wiping it off seems unfeasible when black expansive dots fade in and assault her like a whirlwind, her consciousness snatched away without her consent._

_Lexa never receives the text._

_**_

_The beeps from the electrocardiogram machine are the first sounds she hears when she regains consciousness, her eyelids heavy it takes her four tries to lift them. Bright white lights pierce into her eyes, and her vision only refocuses a few seconds later. She moves her eyes to examine the room she is in, but the walls seem too clean and too white to be her bedroom. When she looks down at her arm she sees a woman, whose face is covered by untamed auburn hair, seemingly asleep on the limited comfort proffered by her hand._

_“Mom?” She whispers, grunting when the sharp pain in her head intrudes._

_Abby is alarmed by the sounds Clarke is making, her hair no longer in the way when she wakes. The mother caresses her daughter’s forehead, careful not to touch the bandaged wound. She runs a quick inspection all over Clarke to ensure she isn’t in discomfort._

_“Hey honey. How are you feeling?”_

_“It hurts to move,” Clarke replies, grimacing when the throbbing pain returns, but she manages to ask, “How long was I out for?”_

_“A week. You did come round a few times in between, but you were in so much pain they had to give you sedatives to put you to sleep.”_

_“What happened?”_

_“You were in an accident,” Abby reminds. “I rushed over when I received a call informing me that my daughter is in a hospital in London?” She creases her eyebrows, “Why didn’t you tell me you left?”_

_“We weren’t exactly in good terms since I left the house.”_

_Abby sighs, her face showing nothing but an acknowledgement of defeat. They haven’t been in touch for the past six months; Abby was always occupied with hospital duties and Clarke with her hectic school schedules. The real reason behind the strained relationship, however, is that Clarke had believed her mother was involved in the death of her father eight years prior. Jake was run down by a speeding car, shortly after a heated argument with Abby that forced him out of the house, and Clarke had witnessed all of it at a young age, but scars don’t fade like memories do._

_“How did the accident happen?” Clarke prompts, attempting to wash away the wisp of guilt that was caught up in her throat when she sees the hurtful look on her mother’s face._

_As if the lines on her forehead aren’t enough to convey her non-verbal inquisition, Abby furrows her brows, concern discernible in every inch. When she is about to speak, a knock on the door interrupts them. A woman in her late thirties, her white robe too big, enters the room with papers attached to a clipboard in hand. She approaches one side of the bed, examines Clarke by shining a light into each eye, and reads off the machine for her heart rate._

_“Welcome back, Miss Griffin,” she says with a smile, putting the torch into the huge pocket of her robe. She then turns around to face Abby, who still bears a look of worry, and requests, “Mrs Griffin, may I speak with you outside?”_

_She nods, trails behind the doctor and closes the door once they are out of the room. “What’s wrong with my daughter?”_

_The woman flips the pages in her hand, comprehends Clarke’s condition with each read. “Her limbic system was partly damaged when she received the blow, but the swelling has noticeably reduced, so that’s the good news.”_

_Abby breathes out a sigh of relief, prepared herself for the next sequence, “And the bad news?”_

_“Due to the compression on several nerves, she may suffer from dissociative amnesia. In other words, it might be difficult for her to remember certain past events, usually the more personal memories, those she deems unhappy or depressing.”_

_“How quickly will she recover?”_

_“It depends. It’s common to lose pieces of information due to the shock to the brain, but regaining them is a work of psychology. It may take days, weeks or even years. But for now, the priority is to let her rest as much as possible.”_

_In the twenty-odd years of her medical career she has never encountered a case similar to Clarke’s. She mutters a word of thanks before reentering the room, her mind muddled with thoughts when she sees Clarke trying to reach for the glass of water on the table by the bed. Swiftly she moves to ease her daughter’s struggle, feeds her the water, an apologetic look apparent on her face._

_“What did the doctor say?” Clarke asks once her throat is damp enough and the rasp in her voice disappears._

_“You’re okay.”_

_When a moment of silence pervades the air, awkwardness rising to its maximum, Clarke speaks. “What day is it?”_

_“Wednesday. Why?”_

_“Shit, I need to make a call.” Clarke flinches when she moves a muscle, her body obviously not keeping up with her._

_Abby scowls at the profanity, but decides to focus on the more important matter. “Is this about you starting in UAL this September?”_

_Clarke’s eyes widen at the question. How did she know? I never told anyone about it. Her mouth opens and closes, words dancing at its opening but don’t make an exit.  The gaze fixed upon her doesn’t waver either, suddenly attacking her internally and she knows very well she might lose this battle._

_“I received a call from them, asking me where my daughter was when she was supposed to be having an interview with them,” Abby tells, “They’ve guaranteed you a place even after I told them of the accident. They want you, Clarke.”_

_“That’s strange, because hardly anyone ever believes in my art,” Clarke replies sardonically._

_Abby lets out a sigh, aware of the mock in Clarke’s voice. She had always pushed her daughter towards medicine, something Clarke is interested in but doesn’t enjoy. When Clarke voiced out her love for art and an endeavor to pursue it, she was always greeted with a shake of head, disapproving and discouraging, telling her to give up the root of her gaiety, the only place she could find tranquility in (until she met_ her _, but she no longer remembers)._

_“I’m sorry,” She finally says, creaking at her own apology, causing Clarke to look up but their eyes don’t meet directly. “I know I haven’t been the mother I should, but let me take care of you for now, okay?”_

_She speaks with such patent repentance that Clarke’s heart softens, the years of continual anger within her suddenly losing its place when her mother breaks down in tears. Clarke thinks that maybe, maybe it’s time they repair their relationship, because she is so tired of shutting her closest kin out, so tired of the loneliness (but she found home when she met_ her _, but she no longer remembers). She reaches for Abby’s hand just inches away, gives it a squeeze even when every muscle in her body works to resist._

_“Your father would be so proud of you, Clarke.”_

_“I hope so.” She mutters low, nostalgia overwhelms at the thought of her father._

 

* * *

 

“Do I know you?” The blonde arches an eyebrow, evidently surprised by the unforeseen embrace she has just pulled away from.

 

When their bodies separate, Lexa immediately misses the warm contact, once so homely and recurrent before their worlds flourished and deepened. She gapes at the other girl, whom she hasn’t seen for almost three years now, a wave of emotions splashing all over her, misting her vision too fast. Holding her gaze, she searches for a sign of acquaintance in the entrancing tint of blue, a little would suffice, but it isn’t there. No signs of it, no traces, nothing.

 

Clarke waves a hand inches away from Lexa, frowning when the person doesn’t respond and instead continues to stare at her like she is being accused of committing a felony. When she studies into the green she senses a familiarity, something that feels more than amity, the shade so bright and enrapturing, but its beauty filmed by sadness.

 

She almost drowns in the color, but she snaps out of it just in time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude.” Holding a hand out, she introduces herself, “I’m Clarke.”

 

It’d be an awful lie if she thought it didn’t hurt. Her chest constricts, interrupting the smooth entry and exit of gases, adrenaline shoots up without a warning. If this is one of Clarke’s mind games to force an apology out of her, Lexa would surrender and let her claim victory. After all, victory stands on the back of sacrifice.  

 

“You – you don’t remember me,” she stutters out, meaning to ask, but somehow it comes out as a certainty, and she wishes for it to be a mere erroneous assumption.

 

“Am I supposed to?” She questions heedfully, afraid she might push the wrong buttons again.

 

Tears are already drying up before they can make themselves known, her bones frozen and stiff she can’t move an inch. Lexa wants to know how Clarke is doing, what she has been up to all these years, but nothing comes out of her parted lips. A twinge of melancholy washes over her when she finally capitulates to reality, seeing the genuine bemusement written all over the face of the person she has been missing for years, it hurts like hell.

 

“I think you’re mistaking me for somebody else.”

 

Lexa turns around swiftly at the insinuation, unable to face her any longer with the skyrocketing probability of breaking down. Her legs find themselves workable again, striding fast in the opposite direction, desperate to increase the distance between them. It is incomprehensible to her, to be meeting Clarke again, except this time it was two strangers meeting one another by chance.

 

 _That was weird_ , Clarke thinks with a raised brow, eyeing the brunette as she marches away hastily like she was a plague. She observes the walking beauty until she goes out of sight, a hint of familiarity crawling up her skin when the moment from earlier replays in her head.

 

When she catches up with real life, she pushes open the door and enters the café, breathing in the buttery smell of fresh croissants and muffins, accompanied by a strong aroma of good quality coffee beans and mixed perfumes. The setting of Polaris has changed completely with new sets of dark colored couches and timber furniture taking over, random but evocative photographs decorating the heavily-worded walls. What used to be a neat arrangement of ceramic tiles is now replaced with expensive wood, bringing the café’s classiness and originality up a notch.

  

“Hey Murph! Do me a favor and go get some milk from the grocery store. Lexa says she’s in the middle of a crisis and can’t come back now.”

 

Now _that_ voice Clarke recognizes. She scans across the space and sees a fairly tall male with black curly hair walking out the kitchen towards the ordering counter with a handful of serviettes in his hands. He doesn’t appear to notice her presence when Clarke approaches.

 

“Bellamy Blake?”

 

He looks up at the mention of his name, his eyes widen in surprise when he sees her. “Clarke Griffin? How long has it been? You look so grown up.”

 

Bellamy walks over to her side, dropping the serviettes on the counter, and gives her a quick squeezing hug. Clarke giggles as she returns the hug, “I could say the same to you, Bell. What are you doing here?”

 

“Believe it or not, Clarke, but I own this place now,” he says, not hiding his pride from display.

 

“No way.”

 

“Yup,” he reaffirms with a frisky wink, nodding when Clarke’s jaws drop in slow motion. “The immature Bellamy Blake is long gone. Now I’m all about business and life.” He shakes his head lightly, “Too deep, too deep.”

 

Clarke laughs, thinking about the insensitive person he used to be. She moves around to have a better look at the revamped Polaris, “I must say though, I am impressed with all the things you’ve done to this place. It’s amazing.”

    

Hearing the compliment coming from an old friend draws a wide grin on his face. “Alright. Enough about me. How have you been, Clarke?”

 

“Really good. In fact, even better now that I’m back! I missed everyone,” she admits.

 

“Are you back in Polis for good?”

 

“Oh no, I’m only here for ten days. I have a meeting with this company to talk about opening an art gallery in London, so I have to be back for that. I thought I’d visit Polis before then.”

 

“I’m glad you did.”

 

* * *

 

 

She doesn’t know what she is running from, but she keeps pushing forward anyway, her respiration quickening with every pace. A rush of panic and fright swirls around the pit of her stomach as she climbs up the stairs, and she barely catches herself when she misses a step. When she arrives outside of her apartment, she fumbles with her set of keys, only managing to unlock the door at the fourth attempt.

 

Upon entering she feels deprived of oxygen, her body threatening to collapse if she doesn’t lie down, so she does. Her eyes shift to one of the walls, observing the framed photograph that hangs on with such fervor as she approaches it. With a heavy heart she removes it from its place into the drawer next to her, like the past six years never existed.

 

Lexa lets herself fall onto the couch, hoping to calm her mind that is still brawling with thoughts. Are they even friends now? She could have asked how it happened, how Clarke suddenly has no memories of her, she could have, but she didn’t.

 

It’s no surprise how easily she falls asleep due to fatigue, but she wakes at the sound of her doorbell two hours later. Rising from the couch drowsily, she goes to open the door, only to see a smiling figure in a floral dress, one hand holding a wrapped gift and the other a bottle of champagne.

 

“Happy birthday,” Costia says as she gives Lexa a kiss in the cheek, places the items on the counter when she enters the flat.

 

“Why are you still in your work clothes? Don’t tell me Bellamy’s making you work extra hours today,” Costia wonders, but Lexa is quick to clarify.

 

“I left work early, had a migraine.” When a worried look appears on the other girl’s face, Lexa says, “But I’m fine now. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about the dinner at yours.”

 

Costia releases a hum of zero confidence that carries a strand of guilt, “About that. I was thinking we should try this place out. It's just a half hour drive away. I’m not going to lie, you know how bad of a cook I am.”

 

Somehow her lips pull up into a smile when she sees the effort Costia is putting in order to make her birthday special and worthwhile. Ever since they had that conversation three years ago, the one where Costia revealed the reason why she only returned months later, even after she made it out of captivity. She feared not for her own safety, but for Lexa’s. _I would still choose you over my life._ Lexa glances at the brunette when she isn’t looking, _am I worth what you’re doing?_

 

**

 

“You look amazing in that dress, Lex. Red suits you,” Costia says when they enter the restaurant, rated five stars by multiple food magazines based in Polis.

 

Lexa blushes at the compliment, “You too, Cos.”

 

Romantic melodies jingle their way into their ears as the manager escorts them to their table. When they take their seats, a waiter comes and greets them, placing two menus on respective sides of the table. He leaves them to decide on their orders, returning a few minutes later with an iPad in hand. In a polite tone he asks, “What would you like to have?”

 

“Birthday girl gets to decide what we’re having,” Costia gives a playful smirk, to which Lexa responds with a weak laugh.

 

“We’ll have a bottle of your bestselling wine and a two-course meal,” Lexa says, pointing the meal option off the menu.

 

Of course the wine arrives first. It smells of expensive red and tastes sour in the first sip, but sweetness follows when the liquid melts at the tip of the tongue, validating it as a top-standard liquor. The main meals come shortly afterwards; Lexa’s steak cooked medium well whilst Costia prefers hers medium rare. She slices the chunk of meat into smaller pieces for the ease of ingestion, the juiciness giving a satisfactory feeling to the person devouring it.

 

Costia raises her glass halfway through her meal, causing Lexa to do the same. “To another great twenty one years.”

 

Their glasses meet with a soft clink, Lexa drinking down its content in two gulps. She forgets to eat, and keeps pouring herself more wine to fill her stomach, the alcohol starting to take its toll but she ignores it When she realizes she needs the nutrition, she eats a slice of her steak clumsily (thanks to the alcohol she is now tipsy), drawing a laugh out of Costia.

 

“Stay like that,” she says, snapping a picture of Lexa with her phone just as she looks up, the meat hanging out the corner of her mouth.

 

“How bad do I look in that?” She is just about to get up when she accidentally knocks over her wine glass, staining the bottom of her dress with dark spots.

 

She curses silently, trying to wipe the wine off with her towel but failing. “I’m going to clean this off. See you in a bit.”

 

  

The restroom is surprisingly a distance away from their table and she urges to run, but she doesn’t because the people there are already judging by the looks of it. A sigh of relief escapes her lips when she sees the sign, pushes the door open like her life depended on it, but what she didn’t expect to see was a familiar blonde by the sink, the gold dress hugging every curve of her body. Lexa freezes at the sight, unaware that she has indeed made herself known the blonde by standing in the open.

 

Clarke catches her in the mirror, turns around with a smile, and says, “Hi.”

 

Lexa doesn’t know how, but she manages to choke out, “Hello.”

 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Lexa says when she regains composure, finally able to look at the blue orbs again but not without a price.

 

“Me neither.”

 

“I apologize for my behavior earlier. It was so uncalled for.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. A lot of people mistake me for someone else, so you’re not the only one.” Clarke regrets it once her words are out.

 

 _Clarke, it’s me, Lexa_ , she wants to say. She wants to shout it in her face but she doesn’t have it in her right now. The Clarke that she knew is not the girl standing seven feet away. The Clarke that she knew would bite her bottom lip and fiddle with her fingers whenever anxiety took over, but this person doesn’t.

 

An eerie air of silence rules over, growing thick with each second, and it steals away the comfort they never had before this moment. Clarke notices the stains of Lexa’s wear, but she doesn’t question in case it would scare her off like the incident outside Polaris.

 

It is Clarke who tears the clouds apart, stepping towards the door, “I should go back out.”

 

“Wait,” Lexa grabs her wrist just as she passes, bringing the blonde to a halt, “Do you know what day it is?” _Please remember._

 

“Monday?” Clarke shoots her a look, one that looks far too familiar to not cause a pang in her heart.

 

Lexa releases her grip, needles pricking at her flesh, but she keeps her gaze leveled with Clarke’s.

 

“Have a good night, Clarke.” The disappointment in her voice is masked perfectly by her sincerity.

 

“You too,” she pauses, realizing she hasn’t got a name.

 

“Lexa,” the brunette replies when she senses her cue, and Clarke offers a smile before she makes her way out of the restroom.

 

Even with the door closed and the other girl out of sight, her mind is reeling and unclear, and she isn’t sure if the wine is to be blamed. She is about to turn on the tap when her phone vibrates within the small area of her purse. Lexa pulls it out, only to be greeted by a text message from an unknown number.

 

_‘Be careful what you wish for, Alexandria’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The same ones that break you are the same ones that shape you" as quoted by the man is from a song by Tori Kelly ("Funny"). I hope this chapter answers some questions as to how and why Clarke doesn't remember Lexa. Lexa's nightmare in chapter three was actually a hint to Clarke's accident, but who do you think sent the ending text? Leave your thoughts in the box below, would love to hear from you! xx


	5. derivations and precarious ventures

It’s like déjà vu, she can feel it creeping beneath her skin.

 

Except, it isn’t.

 

When she sees those eyes, one second green and bright, the next they lose their glint to an invisible portal, she can’t help but share the sadness that they manifest before they become lackluster like all hopes are perished and no longer accessible.

 

In their brief exchange Clarke somehow feels connected to the brunette, albeit the connection seems a little hazy to be recognized. It’s feels as if they aren’t complete strangers to each other, she thinks that perhaps they had passed by one another on a random day before she left Polis to pursue an art degree. 

 

When the air of silence becomes intolerable, Clarke decides to crack the thin ice on the surface and leave, “I should go back out.”

 

It’s rude, she knows, but she doesn’t wait for the other girl to respond and strides towards the exit, one hand pushing strands of blonde locks away from her sight. The door is only a few feet away when five svelte fingers wrap around her wrist, tugging her back gently so that she halts. Instinctively she turns at the contact, cold yet warm, her eyes roam over the brunette before they lock onto hers to question.

 

She sees the green again, so innocent, so pure, so beautiful, but a plea wanders in those eyes. She finds herself trying to read the other's mind, to fathom the situation, but Lexa beats her to it.

 

“Do you know what day it is?”

 

“Monday?” Clarke blurts out, and she can see in Lexa’s face so obvious that that wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

 

Her wrist feels free again when Lexa retrieves her hand, manages a smile and tells Clarke to enjoy her night.

 

“You too, Lexa.”

 

 _So that’s her name_ , Clarke thinks as she walks out of the restroom into the vivacious surrounding, her mind relaxes at the jazz music playing in the restaurant. It only lasts for a short moment before she really ponders into it, into the fact that Lexa’s voice is ringing in her head like a song she’s heard before, and it puzzles her. More importantly though, she’s glad to have made a friend on her first day back, hoping that that last encounter wasn't their final one.

 

Table 38 is on the far end of the restaurant, a significant distance from the restroom as she thinks of it, thanks to her heels. It’s like she’s walking down a never-ending aisle, people on her left and right too indulged in their idle conversations, devouring cut meats with limited elegance, moans of satisfaction follow.

 

The happenings should affect her in some ways; trivial matters always do. However, none seems to stir any attention from her, because all she has in mind is that one person she’s met twice now. It spurs an indescribable sentiment within her; an extremely familiar feeling. The looks that Lexa gave her when they ran into each another outside Polaris were strange and slightly derogatory, but when they met again tonight she was different. She was more collected and lionhearted, and Clarke can’t help but wonder why she wasn’t like that the first time.

 

“Clarke?” A voice pulls her out of her thoughts, a warm hand placed gently on her shoulder to fully bring her back to the present.

 

She turns around to face its owner, a man in his suit and tie, his hair too slick for her liking but she doesn’t complain. His brow furrows when she offers only a small smile, “Are you okay? You’ve been gone for some time.”

 

Clarke’s smile widens when she reads the worry on his face, gives his bicep a squeeze as an assurance, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just saw someone I met earlier, so we talked a little.”

 

Finn takes her hand, fingers intertwine as he leads them back to their table, “Come on.”

 

She chuckles at the sight of her friends when they reach the table, and mutters a ‘thanks’ when Finn, undoubtedly a gentleman, draws a chair out to let her sit.

 

“I see Prince Charming found the princess. We were starting to worry you lost your way, Clarkey.” Raven teases. “You two are made for each other.”

 

A faint red tint shows on her cheeks when she hears the comment her engineer friend has made, and looks at her boyfriend who exchanges a smile as he settles in his seat. “Hey, I know my directions well,” Clarke returns.

 

“I’m ready to hear your story now,” Clarke smirks, interlocking her fingers as she rests her hands on the white cloth overlaying the surface of the round table, as if to prepare for an interrogation.

 

“What story?” Raven asks innocently, sipping her glass of champagne as she looks away, hoping that the action would fortify her already failing pretense.

 

Clarke laughs, “Come on Rae. We’re not teenagers anymore.” She turns to the man next to her with a sly smile, “Right, babe?”

 

Finn agrees with a nod, “I’m sorry Raven, but she’s right. We told you how we met and things, it’s only fair if you tell us your share.” He winks at Clarke, who lets out another laugh at their impromptu synergy.

 

“Tell us how you two became a thing.” Clarke presses further, leaning towards the table to look into her friend’s eyes, pressurizing her with an intense eye contest.

 

The Columbia University graduate offers nothing, taking another gulp of the sparkling wine, eager to pour more into the now empty glass with three pairs of prying eyes now on her. “Would you like more champagne?” Her question is transparent, so Bellamy decides to step in, an arm snakes over her shoulder.

 

“She can be shy sometimes,” Bellamy says playfully, pulling Raven to his side gently, “I will happily narrate our little love story.”

 

An elbow flies to his chest, hitting him hard, his arm drops at the unexpected welt. The witnessing couple giggles when Raven shakes her head repeatedly with a flush of embarrassment showing behind a smile, Bellamy rubs the area above his ribs to soothe the ache.

 

“Sounds like you know her better than I do now, Bell,” Clarke says, earning another glare from Raven.

 

They end up hearing the whole story from Raven, who claims to be only tipsy and not at all near to being drunk, but anyone could see that that’s the complete opposite. Bellamy started off first, thinking back to his seventeenth birthday party six years ago, where he met the brunette briefly. He hadn’t attended Polis High as he lived nearly two hours away, and his parents found it a hassle to be going back and forth by car. Raven was Clarke’s plus one to his party, and even then, Clarke made the wrong choice of consuming too much alcohol, the potential time between the two cut short when Raven, as her best friend, had to put her safety first.

 

“I didn’t know I was the reason you two had a non-blossoming friendship,” Clarke releases a hearty laugh. “Bell, you could have said something!”

 

“Mind you, Clarke. You had too much of his ‘Trigedasleng’ shit,” Raven reprimands.

 

Clarke raises her palms in surrender, “Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” She turns her attention to Finn, who clearly has no idea what had just been conversed. “Bell used to make this random alcoholic mix - ”

 

“Hey, it was my signature drink!” Bellamy interrupts, slightly offended by Clarke’s choice of word to describe the beverage.

 

“- and it was the most horrible thing I have ever tasted. It was strong, bitter, salty, spicy, and then sweet when it reached the back of the throat. I drank two whole glasses of it down on a bet. I regretted every drop of it. I still do.”

 

“Mockery is her way of expressing fondness for something. Trust me, Finn. She absolutely loved it. A hundred and one percent,” Bellamy concludes.

 

Raven coughs at her boyfriend’s confidence, not denying that that is one of the factors that led to her attraction towards the curly haired male charmer.

 

Finn only laughs at the recollection, “That sounds just like the Clarke Griffin I fell in love with.”

 

She can’t help but smile at his sweet confession. She hears it daily, in the morning when she wakes and at night before she sleeps, but when the words are spoken they stay so fresh to her head and her heart. Maybe she feels the same way too. _Maybe_.

 

* * *

 

For as long as she remembers, thirty minutes have never been so hushed, but she lets the silence grow comfortable throughout the drive back to Lexa’s apartment. She glances at Lexa from the corner of her eyes, who keeps her gaze out the window, seemingly concentrating at the night view. Earlier when they finished dinner, Costia suggested that they catch a movie at the cinema nearby, but Lexa was uninterested, expressing her tiredness from a day's work to politely reject the offer.

 

The girl in red notices the rise in volume when Costia turns the radio up, aware of the deliberate action but she doesn’t turn to look. She had been feeling rickety since the toilet visit, and she tried to conceal the uneasiness, but she knows the difficulty in that. The only thought clear (yet foggy) in her mind is no other than Clarke Griffin. Her best friend. Her former best friend? _Is she even a friend now?_

 

Meeting Clarke Griffin again after three years of radio silence is like an introduction to an arduous journey, with riddles on the sides waiting to be solved, and Lexa is more resolute than ever to decipher the codes. She has already lost her once, and she isn’t ready to lose her again.

 

“Lex?” She feels a nudge on her shoulder, teleporting her out of the deep world she was in.

 

“Yeah?” She turns around, realizing that they have reached the door of her apartment.

 

“Have you been here?” Costia asks in a worried tone, her hand slides down to hold the other’s forearm. 

 

“What do you mean? I am here, aren’t I?”

 

Costia continues to eye her skeptically, furrows her brow and says, “You know what I mean. Is everything alright?”

 

“Everything’s fine,” she lies and Costia knows that look well. It’s that look Lexa always has when a problem surfaces and she tries to mask it with a fake smile, like she’s trying to run away rather than face it.

 

“Was the dinner too much? Or was it not good?” She suggests, only to be met with a shake of head from the birthday girl.

 

“No. Everything’s fine,” Lexa reiterates, placing her free hand on the arm holding hers, “I promise.”

 

“I’m glad,” Costia smiles, but Lexa is well aware that what she says is the opposite of how she actually feels. The drop of an octave in her voice betrays her.

 

“Hey,” she gives Costia’s arm a squeeze, “Today has been more than I could ever imagine. Dinner was excellent. Best birthday to date.” Yet another deception, unknown to both.

 

Costia’s smile widens at the words, her white teeth slowly showing when they register. Lexa reflects a similar smile, noticing the blush that has sneaked up Costia’s thin cheeks. When Costia steps closer, Lexa expects anything but a gentle press on the lips, which lasts for no more than three seconds. Costia leaves the option open for the other to pull away when she kisses her so softly, feeling the full moist lips on hers as she cups Lexa’s face. To her surprise, Lexa doesn’t move away nor does she lean in for it. She stiffens at the unexpected contact, but lets the moment find its ending.

 

“Goodnight, Lex,” Costia says when they part, her cheeks even redder now.

 

“Goodnight,” The other girl responds with a rather rigid tight-lipped smile. “Thank you for tonight, Cos.”

 

“Anything for you, Lex.” With that, Costia turns on her heels and walks away, leaving Lexa outside her apartment with guilt stripping off her skin when she thinks of the kiss. _Should I have stopped it?_  

 

She enters her home a few seconds later, and the first thing that comes into view is a perfectly wrapped gift, its shape a cube, on the counter. It is no surprise to her when a strange sensation washes over her, a mix of nostalgia and ruefulness and gaiety when she spots a bottle of Geoffroy champagne, also sitting on the marble top.

 

**

 

_“Lola’s tonight? My treat,” Clarke says as she slumps into the seat next to Lexa, who is deeply immersed in her reading to even lift her head up to greet the blonde._

_“Not tonight, Clarke. I have a test on Monday and I need to revise.”_

_“Seriously? You have the whole day tomorrow to revise.” When Lexa doesn’t shift, Clarke puts a hand on the open book on purpose, but she deems it worth it when the brunette surrenders and sends her a glare almost immediately._

_“Your fingerprints are all over my book,” Lexa hisses, pulling it out of Clarke’s stubborn hand as she raises her eyes to meet hers._

_“Fine. We can go next weekend. But today's a Saturday, so you’re either coming to mine or I’m coming to yours,” Clarke decides for them both._

_Lexa rolls her eyes at her friend’s persistence, “Why don’t you ask Raven?”_

_“She’s leaving for Brazil tonight, and she’s specially called to warn me not to bug her.”_

_“She signed up for that student exchange program thing?”_

_Clarke nods, “You know. You should get to know her. I know she’s not the easiest person to get along well with, but you could at least try?”_

_“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that now that we’re already in our last year of high school?” Lexa says rather than asks, a hint of irritation manifests with every syllable._

_They stare at each other for a brief moment before Clarke concedes defeat. “Alright, forget I said that. Anyway, you should definitely come over. We’ll watch a film and I can finally prove to you how good this is.”_

_Clarke unzips her backpack just enough to reveal a bottle of something, earning an incredulous gape from the brunette. Quickly, she grabs the zipper and tries to close the bag, and the blonde only smirks at how flustered Lexa becomes._

 

_“Clarke!” She exclaims in a whisper, “Are you out of your mind? We’re in school for God’s sake!”_

_“Are you doubting my skills? I’m obviously a ten at this,” Clarke frowns, zipping her bag up when Lexa fails to._

_“Carrying liquor to school is not a skill, Clarke. How did you…?” She trails off, trying to think exactly when Clarke had managed to smuggle the alcohol._

_“So when you said you needed the toilet during lunch break and came back late to class, you sneaked out to get this thing?” Lexa asks, shooting Clarke a disbelieving look._

_A smirk forms on the blonde’s face, “I wouldn’t call it sneaking.”_

_Lexa narrows her eyes, clearly infuriated and slightly disappointed, disagreeing with her friend and her constant bad girl shenanigans._

_A sudden wave of uneasiness hits Clarke, prompting her to confess, “I may or may not have asked Anya for a little help.”_

_The brunette huffs an air of disapproval. “There are certain rules we can’t afford to break, Clarke. This is risky! If you’re caught, you can get suspended.”_

_“Okay, okay,” Clarke raises her palms in defeat, only momentarily before she leans against the table and says, “If rules are to be abided and kept unbroken in order to survive, we might as well create fun along the way. After all,” she looks into the green ocean, starry and beautiful that she almost loses herself again, and continues, “Life should be about more than just surviving, right?”_

_When Lexa hears her last sentence, too un-Clarke-like, she can’t stop the hearty laugh crawling up her throat, and only then she remembers that they are in the school library, and so she quiets down. “How are we friends?”_

_“Must be fate,” Clarke replies dramatically, knowing the answer would pull another laugh out of her friend. Maybe it_ is _fate._

_**_

She blinks back to reality, unknowing to her she had grabbed the bottle in the midst of her reminiscence, and she puts it into the cabinet aligned with other liquors. Upon closing its doors, she realizes how much she misses Clarke. When she left Polis, Lexa couldn’t sleep for days, and eating well was a rare case. Even after the phone call Costia received, she still struggled.

 

It’s a selfish thought, but she can’t help thinking about how wonderful it would be to savor this bottle of champagne with her best friend (former, now stranger). She will save it, for now.

 

* * *

 

 

_The sun comes early, its rays pierce through the windows into the hall when she hears the bedroom door creak open. Slowly, her eyes flutter open at the noise, not wanting the brightness of the room to blind her as she wakes. Footsteps, albeit light, are audible, approaching her with wariness, and her vision focuses to a brunette with a phone in hand._

_“Sorry,” the older brunette mumbles, “Did I wake you?”_

_“No,” she replies in her sleepy voice, “I was just up anyway.”_

_“I’m sorry I took your bed,” Costia says with a guilty look on her face, and immediately Lexa feels bad for not hiding her doze well enough._

_“Don’t be sorry. Why are you up so early?” Lexa asks, rubbing her heavy eyes when sleep threatens to stick around, and concurrently shifts to a sitting position on the couch. She pats on the free area, offering Costia a seat next to her, and the girl accepts the invitation._

_Lexa notes the fright on Costia’s face when the latter exhales deeply, her lips tremble as air escapes her lungs like they have been compressed for too long. Her eyes remain fixed on the carpeted floor, and Lexa knows that unless comfort is extended, the refusal to lift her head and meet eye to eye would only prolong._

_The younger grasps both of Costia’s hands, so tightly as if to say unspeakable words, hoping the action provides her with warmth and faith. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”_

_The only response from that is a twiddle of fingers under Lexa’s, and she tries not to think of Clarke, but it_ reminds _her of Clarke. An instant pulse to the brain snaps her out of it._ Costia is your main priority right now.

_“Don’t rush. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here,” Lexa comforts the girl next to her with a squeeze of hand._

_Taking another deep and shaky breath, Costia shuts her eyes to try and formulate necessary words in her head, careful not to let herself drift towards past hurtful memories that are still haunting her no matter how she runs._

_“I went to the police a few days ago,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper._

_Lexa’s eyes widen and her grip on Costia tightens just a little, heedful not to hurt her with force. The teller drops her head and watches the floor as though it’s moving, but really she is trying hold back the tears._

 

_“I received a call in the morning. They caught them.”_

_Her voice croaks at the revelation, but she fights to continue, “They wanted me to come down and give another statement.”_

_It almost comes naturally when courage, in small doses, arouses within her as she lifts her eyes to meet the inquisitive green directly, and seconds of quietude turns into an elongated moment of bafflement when Costia says, “I’m sorry about the tea.”_

_Lexa opens her mouth to ask, but then she remembers. Three days ago, Costia had offered her iced lemon tea, a jug of it, which she drank down in several gulps after a dehydrating ten mile run that morning. She remembers its sweetness and coolness when the tea rushed down her throat, the sugary liquid filling gaps of lost water molecules. She remembers the exhaustion that followed, needing sleep more than ever, her legs still burning from the run when she laid on the couch, which was an odd occurrence because she would never fall asleep right after a workout, unless –_

_“You drugged me?” Lexa asks when the ends connect, anger only partially restrained when she sees the remorse unravel on Costia’s features. She releases her hold and Costia suddenly wavers again._

_“I’m really sorry,” the girl apologizes for the fourth time, fresh tears fall under the length of her eyelashes as she looks away guiltily._

_Lexa softens at the glance._ I can’t blame her. I don’t have the right to. It was my fault. All mine.

 

_Sighing, she recollects her thoughts in the process before saying, “I’m sorry for putting you through all this.”_

_“No,” Costia whispers, lifting the younger’s head by the chin so that their eyes meet, and she notices the wet tracks on Lexa’s cheeks. “If you could’ve stopped it from happening, you would have. I know that.”_

_“I couldn’t sleep for days. I was restless after I escaped because I was thinking about you, if you were alright in Polis.”_

_“I didn’t come back when my therapy ended because I was scared for my life, for your life. It wasn’t safe to come back to you when they were still out there, but I couldn’t stay away and let you think I chose to abandon you.”_

_“Hey,” Lexa says, her hands move to cup Costia’s face, sliding a thumb across the delicate skin where another tear fell. “It’s over now.”_

_A moment of solace is within reach, and they hold in each other’s arms like the outside world is unimportant and invisible._

 

* * *

 

 

It’s just another ordinary late morning in Polaris, taking orders from people of different characters, all but the same. The entrance door opens and closes every ten minutes to customers, both regular and new, all but still the same. Ever since Bellamy took over and purchased the café, business has improved significantly, especially for the size of small town Polis, it’s doing really great.

 

“Welcome to Polaris,” Lexa greets when she hears the little bells chime at the door, but her eyes don’t leave the top of the counter that she is cleaning.

 

“Lexa?”

 

At the mention of her name, or rather, at the voice, she pauses. Her back is to its owner, and somehow she doesn’t immediately turn to face _her_. Her heart pounds against her chest when she perceives the increasing sound of clicking boots, and she gives in. She whirls around.

 

“Cl – Clarke?” She falters when she sees the bright blue orbs only one and a half meters away, a man-made fitment the only barrier in between them.

 

“I didn’t know you work here,” Clarke states, eyeing the barista with a surprised look, “which I should have known because you wore the same uniform yesterday.”

 

As if Lexa was a toddler who had trouble understanding English, the blonde roves her index finger in the air to recount her observation, pointing at her black shirt, her name tag and the café’s logo sewed on the chest pocket.  

 

“Yeah, of course.” It takes her twice the effort not to stutter. “What are you doing here?” _Really stupid question, Lexa._ “I mean, you are here for a drink, or food. I’m sorry I – ”

 

“Lexa, breathe,” the other interrupts her rambling, and Lexa can only hope her anxiety isn’t as conspicuous as she thinks it is. How can she not be nervous, when a pair of eyes, her favorite shade of blue, is staring at her like she’s a crazy person?

 

She does take a breath, like she has been longing for it, and Clarke raises her brow slightly, “Tough morning?”

 

Lexa only responds with a smile, one that covers her true emotions well. “What can I get you?”

 

Scanning the overhead board behind the barista out of appreciation, only a superficial gesture as she already has an order in mind, the blonde says, “Can I please get a – ”

 

“Cappuccino, double shot, extra hot with skinny milk?”

Shit.

_I shouldn’t have known that._

 

She is reminded of her small mistake when the crease on the customer’s face deepens. “- To take away. How do you know how I like my coffee?”

 

Like a lightning bolt she is quick to answer, “I took a lucky guess.”

 

Briskly she turns away from Clarke and prepares the said order, but she doesn’t miss the blonde’s dubious ‘Huh'. With an outburst of passion and undeniable care she pours in two shots of freshly grind espresso, heats the milk to steam, and then allows it to flow into a paper cup.

 

She can’t see her serious face, but she studies how the slender fingers work so smoothly and swiftly, dark brown curls tied in a loose ponytail dance as the professional-looking lady sets a lid onto the rim of the filled coffee cup, indicating that her caffeine drink is ready.

 

“Here you go,” Lexa says, pushing the hot coffee towards the customer along with a small paper bag.

 

“What’s this?” She asks, and as would anyone she peeks into the bag, “Blueberry muffins.”

 

They are warm and tempting, the smell of butter and blueberries invade her nostrils as the bag opens. Clarke is impressed, in awe, perhaps even mind-blown. “Did you take another lucky guess? Or are you secretly a psychic,” she jokes.

 

“How much are they?” Clarke reaches for her purse to withdraw a twenty dollar note.

 

“On the house,” Lexa says, a smile trails behind her words.

 

“What? I can’t not pay for them.”

 

“I insist. Don’t worry, my boss isn’t in. He won’t notice what’s missing.”

 

Clarke grins. _I thought Bellamy is better than that._  The sincerity in the tone of her voice and in the radiating light of her eyes reaches her senses, and so she accepts the gift.

 

“In that case, thank you.”

 

The girl behind the cashier nods, needless to say anything more. Clarke turns around to leave the café, and Lexa tries hard not to think how much she suddenly misses her smile again. She misses being able to hug her with no reasons to, misses being able to talk to her about anything, misses being able to spend time that felt like forever.

 

As her thoughts mindlessly dig deeper, passing through the rigid walls of sentiments, the clicks from boots come to an abrupt stop. Lexa looks up to see Clarke, who maintains eye contact, and the rush of adrenaline becomes so strong her knees almost buckle.

 

“Was the cocoa sprinkled on top another lucky guess?”

 

Clarke Griffin likes everything chocolate, even in her coffees, a fact known to Alexandria Woods since their first visit to the old Polaris. But, years have passed, and inexplicable things have happened. Lexa doesn’t know what Clarke’s full name is. She doesn’t know this Clarke Griffin.

 

She struggles to keep that in mind.

 

Unfortunately this time, she doesn’t reply a straight ‘yes’ when she could have. Tension is buried under a frown when she contemplates, and Clarke immediately notices.

 

“It’s lunch break,” the latter says out of guilt. “Do you want to get lunch together?”

 

This breaks her contemplation, her eyes widen in surprise, and she should say no for Clarke’s sake. Her best friend doesn’t acknowledge her for a reason, so she should decline the offer. She really should.

 

“Um, sure.”

 

The desire to seek the reason triumphs over everything else.

 

**

 

“So when you said you had a great place in mind, you meant McDonald’s?” The blonde looks at Lexa, almost gapes, her face as if to say ‘unbelievable’.

 

The other gives a smile, pulls the door open to let her in first. Clarke complies, entering the fast food restaurant without another question. They are greeted by a woman, so enthusiastic and lively, like she’s having the best day. She punches in their orders, and in no more than two minutes everything is ready to go.

 

“I’ll pay for this one,” Clarke says with a little wink, and Lexa swears her heart skipped a beat. “And I know the perfect place we can have this _perfect_ meal.”

  

Although it is a small town a little distance away from the city, Polis is beautiful as it is where places like this exist to fulfill mental satisfaction. They arrive at the park just two roads across Polaris, and surprisingly it is uncrowded on a bright Tuesday afternoon. Sitting on a bench with a tree their shade, Lexa examines its intricate pattern, adroitness only creative people can put together.

 

“I used to come here a lot with my dad when I was about seven,” Clarke says as she unwraps the paper and takes a mouthful of her chicken burger.

 

Mentioning her father, even after all these years that she has gone through to recover, still brings about a stinging ache, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. Lexa knows it’s a sensitive subject to touch, so she doesn’t question Clarke. She knows about Jake; Clarke had told her how he died, and she was there when her best friend needed a shoulder to lean on. She still is.

 

“How long have you been working at the café?” Clarke offers, taking another smaller bite.

 

“About six months now.”

 

“After graduation?”

 

Lexa pauses for a moment. “I didn’t go to college.”

 

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to assume,” Clarke says immediately, remorse showing on her face and in her voice.

 

“Don’t be,” Lexa assures her with a smile. “What about you?”

 

“I attended an art university in England, graduated a month ago.”

 

The brunette feels her heart drop at the words, and she is sure the entirety of the world has stopped and vanished. All these years she had been misguided, misled, traveling to Seoul with hopes of a reunion, putting the unlikeliness aside. All these years Clarke had been in England, doing what she loves most, and from the looks of it, she was happy. She _is_ happy without her.

 

“Congratulations,” Lexa chokes out.

 

“Thanks. I wanted to come back to Polis before I embark on a career, which will probably be soon. If I can convince the people I’m meeting in two weeks’ time to support my art exhibition, that is.”

 

“That sounds really exciting. Where are you planning to have it?”

 

“If all goes well, in London.”

 

_This can’t be real._

 

“L – London?” She stammers, unconsciously her grip tightens around her cup, threatening to spill its gassy content to the gravel ground.

 

Clarke hums to confirm, “I’m flying back in nine days.”

 

As if a thickening mist isn’t enough, it intensifies, blurring Lexa’s thoughts even more than they already are. She suddenly becomes inarticulate, like she’s lost her voice to communicate. She looks at anywhere but Clarke, because she’s afraid that if she does, everything would slip away like they did three years ago. And yet, she will still be losing her again.

 

“Lexa, are you okay?” A hand waves just inches away from her face, to which she lies, “Yeah, I am. Sorry, I was a little distracted.”

 

“By what?”

 

Before Lexa could come up with an answer fast enough, a text rings in, and Clarke taps on her screen to find out who it's from. As the blonde proceeds to read whatever it conveys, it brings out a smile, so genuine and filled with elation, and Lexa hasn’t seen that for years. She had missed it.

 

“Who is it,” she asks, realizing too late that she’s overstepped the boundary, and quickly she adds, “If you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Finn, my boyfriend,” Clarke chuckles, “He’s just letting me know he’s at the café.”

 

Of course. Three years have passed. Three years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in such period. Her heart cracks and she hears it shatter into pieces, but she chooses to ignore the pain, hoping whoever this Finn is, is capable of providing the happiness Clarke deserves.

 

“We shouldn’t let him wait then.”

 

“Are you sure? You haven’t started on your salad,” Clarke reminds, one hand gesturing towards the unopened takeaway bag.

 

“I’m not hungry,” she lies through her teeth, earning a raise of an eyebrow from Clarke.

 

Of all the things that can happen, this one only surprises the blonde, but leaves Lexa guilt stricken. How is swiping a thumb across the corner of one’s lips an automatic mechanism? Both of them stare into each other’s eyes for a moment that seems like an eternity, before Lexa awkwardly speaks.

 

“You had a little mustard there.”

 

Clarke releases an airy laugh, and wipes her mouth with a serviette to save herself from any more embarrassment. “Here I thought I eat like a lady. Thanks, Lexa.”

 

She is still the same Clarke, only under wholly different circumstances. Lexa finishes her salad with Clarke telling her stories of her life that she already knows, and it feels like a fresh start to an unforgettable adventure.

 

**

 

The antique clock which Bellamy had purchased for a good price hangs on one of the walls, its hands just ticking into one thirty when they re-enter Polaris, lunch break just over. There are more people in the café at this hour, enjoying various choices off the menu and sipping their coffees and teas so ever joyously. Clarke spots Finn sitting by the glass windows, his broad back facing her, and she’s glad he decided not to apply gel on his hair today.

 

“Hey babe,” she says when she nears his table, giving him a peck on the lips, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

 

A knot forms in her stomach at the discomforting sight, but Lexa again chooses to ignore it. She warns herself somberly that she can’t feel this way. Certainly not towards Clarke.

 

“No problem. I have to leave for a conference that’s in an hour. I’m sorry I can’t be with you today.”

 

“Don’t be silly. Work is work,” Clarke squeezes his arm, “This is Lexa. Lexa, this is Finn.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Lexa,” Finn says, holding out a hand which, almost immediately, is met geniality from the brunette.

 

“You too, Finn. I should get back to work,” Lexa announces, turns and leaves for the kitchen before either of them could say anything.

 

Just as she reaches the coffee machine, she hears her name from her left. Apparently, according to Murphy, a man in a black suit and a briefcase is waiting for her right at the corner of the café setting, and he hasn’t ordered anything, not even a beverage.

 

“He looks like a serious deal. Try not to mess it up, Lexa,” Murphy advises in an exasperating tone, which normally Lexa would give no attention to, but he seems to make a good point this time.

 

Lexa hesitates to approach the dark-suited man, one she has no acquaintance with. When she asks Murphy if he has disclosed anything other than his appearance, he merely shakes his head and shrugs. Sparing another look at the stranger, she steps forward, in his direction _._

 

“Hi. My colleague told me you were looking for me?” She says, leaving enough space between them to formally speak.

 

He rises from his seat, buttons up and inquires in a stern voice, “Are you Alexandria Woods?”

 

“I am. You are?”

 

“My name is Lincoln Forrester. I am an attorney hired by your uncle to discuss several important matters regarding his will,” the man tells as he hands her his business card.

 

This perplexes her. When her parents were alive, they never mentioned an uncle, not even once in a family conversation. And as she grew up she learned that to survive in this dark and brutal world, being cynical is top on the list.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an uncle. I think you found the wrong person.”

 

“But you are Alexandria Woods, originally from Tondc?”

 

No one could have known that. She was born in Tondc and only lived there for a couple of years before her father decided to relocate to Ark, its neighboring town. Nonetheless, he is a lawyer, and conducting a background check should be an easy feat to him.

 

“What is his name?” She finds herself asking, although she isn’t sure why.

 

“Gustus Woods.”

 

Something crashes behind them, and Lexa spins around to identify the cause. A broken mug lays on the floor, helpless and useless, the formerly vibrant atmosphere dies with it. Her eyes meet a perturbed pair of dark brown eyes, but the contest ends when he drops a ten dollar bill on the table and grabs his girlfriend’s hand.

 

“Let’s go, Clarke,” Finn says nervously, urging her to follow with a tug.

 

“But you said you were hungry.”

 

“I changed my mind. Let’s go. Now." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please let me know what you think in the comment box below! xx


	6. as we fall over

Fear, anxiety and disturbance.

 

All those emotions extend across the length of his face with the furrows in his brow, from the edge of his hair on the forehead to the end of his chin, from one cheek to the other.

 

Lexa sees through him.

 

The same things explored in her brain when the departure of a certain blonde three years ago seemed inevitable at the time, and it still digs deep. The words still ring like a resounding admonition. The moment when Clarke kissed her at the airport still flashes, and oh how she wishes she had told her to stay. For her.

 

A second later she blinks out of her reeling thoughts just in time to catch Clarke practically being dragged out of the door by the same dark-haired guy. Their eyes meet briefly in the midst of an unsolved misunderstanding, and the blue pair beams an apology and hopes for empathy from the other. Lexa only smiles back and nods, an assuring motion to indicate that everything’s fine.

 

Murphy steps out from behind the cashier to the table previously occupied by the scurried away couple, like a toned down version of Bonnie and Clyde, and shakes his head as he investigates the crash. The spot is messy with the porcelain now in smaller chunks, the spilled coffee on the wooden floor a muddy work of art.

 

It hits her that the latte Finn had ordered was undrunk when he made Clarke leave with him in a hurry.

 

“And he thinks a tenner is enough to cover the costs,” Murphy scoffs as two women walk in, eying him as he grabs the broom and duster from one corner. “Harper, you’re up.”

 

A young blonde comes out of the kitchen, greets the customers and punches in their orders, and Lexa’s glad they’re opting for their drinks to be taken away.

 

A chuckle escapes her lips when Murphy kneels down begrudgingly to clean the coffee before it stains the floor, his mouth mumbling profanities as brown colors the white damp towel. If she had immediate access to her phone she would have taken several pictures of the sight and maybe pin them up somewhere on the walls of Polaris.

 

She nearly forgets she’s in the middle of essentially an arbitrary consultation.

 

“Miss Woods, if we may proceed with the discussions regarding Mr Gustus Woods’ will?”

 

Right.

 

Her uncle.

 

One she never knew existed until today.

 

But based on what grounds should she believe a word this man is saying?

 

She doesn’t so she expresses her doubts.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr Forrester, but I really think you’ve approached the wrong person.” Lexa insists, her face grimly serious as he speaks otherwise.

 

Her suspicions are fueled when he unbolts his briefcase, searches for something and removes what appears to be a folder containing personal details, and she hopes it isn’t of hers.

 

Lexa hears the chimes, but doesn’t look to see who comes in or goes out. All she sees is the man in black flipping through pages like he’s eager to prove his honesty.

 

The urge to just stand and leave almost wins her over.

 

“Alexandria Jasmin Woods, daughter of former Trikru Inc. executive Dominic James Woods and nurse Leanne Woods. Born in Tondc and raised in Ark before parent died in a car crash.”

 

Her jaw drops slightly as he finishes the sentence and tilts his head up to meet his client’s eyes. She’s astonished, to say the least, and hides the nod of confirmation she almost gives.

 

Tondc and Ark are up north, hundreds of miles away from Polis. Lexa has always kept her profile low, choosing not to disclose any family detail to outsiders. The only people she has enough trust in to share the information to, are Costia and Clarke. They would never tell though.

 

“How did you come by this information?” Lexa asks, irate that one would probe into her past without her knowledge. _Of course he knows. He’s a lawyer._

To conceal her momentary stupidity, she diverts to a more personal subject, finding that the uncertainty she has isn’t as sturdy as before. _Maybe he’s speaking the truth._

 

She does want to know.

 

“Tell me about him,” she says quietly, her head once again battling it out with her heart as two words build in her throat, so strange and out of place, but they reach the opening. “My uncle.”

 

“Perhaps you will find what you need in here,” Lincoln, as he had introduced himself, tells Lexa, handing over an envelope that he has extracted from one of the paper holders within the folder itself.

 

The face of the envelope writes _‘Alexandria’_ , and her heart sinks a little. This could all have been a lie, but she still hopes for the obverse, albeit how small it is. She hesitates to take the paper, so Lincoln places it down on the table and slides it towards her.

 

“Give me a call once you’ve made your decision,” he says as he stands from his seat. “He was a good man.”

 

It’s another decision she has to, or rather, is forced to make. What is she supposed to say? Her eyes remain fixed on the envelope, letting herself conduct an introspection of its external and what could possibly be its contents. She doesn’t expect to hear more from the well-dressed young man.

 

“From what I saw today, you would have been a great attorney,” he says before leaving without a cup of coffee in hand.

 

She would have offered, but she’s left here stunned with all the information to absorb.

 

* * *

 

 

The southern wind gusts against her skin but the hand around her wrist grips her hard, forcing to keep moving forward.

 

She’s struggling to keep up, and she swears her arm’s going to fall off if he doesn’t stop.

 

“Finn, stop walking,” Clarke says, but the frame in front, wide and muscular from months of physical training, doesn’t slacken even as they brisk walk up the moderately inclined hill.

 

People heading the opposite direction don’t seem to notice anything unusual, to which Clarke is thankful for (although her wrist is starting to hurt) because she isn’t keen on making a scene of it. Well, unless her boyfriend decides to keep things his way.

 

“Finn!” She says a little too loud, hoping it doesn’t come out a scream, but it does wonders.

 

He stops.

 

Clarke almost bumps into his back due to inertia, but he manages to catch her before she stumbles. She takes two seconds to breathe and thinks that she might as well have done a half marathon, sending a glare to Finn’s direction. Expecting an apology that never came, she arches a brow in question when she notices a strange look on his face.

 

“Hey,” Clarke says softly, reaching to cup his clenched jaw, “What happened in there?”

 

His Adam’s apple bobs at the question, and he hesitates to look into her searching eyes.

 

“Did you hear what he said?” Finn asks, his voice tiny in comparison to his size.

 

“Who?”

 

“The guy in a suit?”

 

Clarke glances into space for a moment, trying to recount the face of the person he had described. “Should I have paid attention to that?”

 

Upon hearing her response he seemingly relaxes, releasing a breath as he mutters an unheard utterance.

 

Her hand drops from his face as relief flows through him. “What’s going on, Finn? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

 

“Nothing’s going on. What makes you think something’s going on?”

 

“Because you were flustered and as your girlfriend I’d really like to know why you were acting rude earlier,” Clarke demands.

 

“I was just nervous about the conference,” he replies rather nonchalantly as he glances at his watch, “which is going to start without me if I don’t get there now.”

 

She remains skeptical but doesn’t show. “Go ahead. See you tonight?”

 

Finn gives her a small smile, and kisses her forehead before he hops an unoccupied cab, sparing another glance at the blonde. He mouths, “I’ll call you.”

 

When the car drives away and is out of sight, Clarke reaches for her phone in the back of her jean pocket and presses on its glass to make a call.

 

On the third ring, somebody picks up.

 

“Octavia. I need your help.”   

 

* * *

 

She hasn’t moved since Lincoln Forrester left half an hour ago, the letter in between her thumb and index finger, almost crumpling its corner with pressure she doesn’t realize she’s exerting.

 

_‘Dear Alexandria,_

_When you read this letter, it means I have left this world for good. I’m sorry we never had the chance to meet again in person. I remember holding you in my arms when you were two months old, when your palms were the sizes of a peanut. I feel we would have had a good time together, had I stayed in Tondc._

_At the time of your birth, your father and I were partners in business, and we had agreed that he would own a bigger proportion of Trikru Inc. After ten years in the field I decided to pull out, having no interest to keep going in the long term. I sold my shares and donated the money to charity, leaving shortly to start a new life. When your mother died, your father lost his tenacity and purpose, and was firm on discontinuing, but his will had already been written and he died before he could amend its conditions._

_His assets were transferred to me, and in his will he expressed his wish for you to have ownership of the Woods’ estate in Northern Tondc, and they would be automatically transferred to you once you turn twenty one. However, he did give me two options at the time, and I am returning them to you._

_Reject the offer and they will be donated away for cancer research, or keep them for your own interests._

_The choice is all yours, Alexandria._

_Stay strong,_

_Uncle Gustus’_

 

She reads it twice more, from the first word to last, each time finding it harder to fathom the pothole she has just fallen into. First she discovers she has a blood relative she never knew lived, and now she’s on the verge of receiving possessions that are potentially valued at a prohibitive price. She should feel relieved at the very least; essentially she’s filthy rich without having to go to college.

 

But Lexa isn’t one to crave for power and wealth.

 

If she thought her life was noncomplex and pellucid, she isn’t so sure now.

 

“If you’re done staring at that piece of paper, I would really appreciate it if you actually get something done here,” Murphy says bitingly, a wet platter in one hand and a dry cloth in the other.

 

Lexa was just about to turn around when the bells chime, welcoming a brunette, tanned and shiny as light reflects off her skin. Scanning across the white blouse and denim shorts, the barista knows the woman as Raven. It’s been years since they last interacted, and certainly she was not expecting to see her at this hour.

 

“Bellamy’s not in,” Lexa says as she moves from her seat, facing Raven entirely.

 

The brunette purses her lips and tugs a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear, “I’m not here to see Bellamy. I’m here to see you.”

 

Curiosity whirls over. They haven’t had a conversation since as long as Lexa can remember, all because of one mutual being.

 

Clarke Griffin.

 

Raven nods towards an empty table, denoting an all-seriousness in wanting to have a talk with Lexa, who follows through her request. They sit, only exchanging quiet glances for a long minute like two kids eying a popsicle, and the loser will cry over his loss.

 

As the last customer stands to leave the café, Lexa finally asks what’s been bothering her since the moment her former classmate walked in.   

 

“What is it that you would like to discuss with me, Raven?”

 

“Can I get a cup of coffee before this gets serious?”

 

Lexa arches an eyebrow, a sign of eagerness that only two people would recognize, but she doesn’t argue and goes off to prepare a cup of macadamia latte. Three minutes later she comes back with a paper cup in her hand.

 

The other brunette takes a sip of the drink, closing her eyes as she devours drops of the latte, and says, “I can see why Bellamy hired you. You’re really good.”

 

There isn’t a hint of sarcasm in her words, or at least Lexa doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t waste another second to move along when Raven puts her cup down on the table.

 

“Why are you here, Raven?”

 

The body sitting right in front of her shifts, as if to brace herself for an apocalypse, and crosses her arms before revealing, “Clarke’s back.”

 

Three years later and it’s still about Clarke.

 

“I know.”

 

“You do?”

 

Lexa nods, her eyes fixed on the miniature wordings on the paper cup. She and Raven have never been close enough to be considered friends; they merely shared a classroom in the first year of high school, and knew a blonde who eventually chose to spend most of her time with the quiet newbie.

 

“I saw her a couple of times. In fact, three times including this morning,” Lexa admits, finding that there isn’t a reason to lie.

 

However, admitting to more truths is never an easy coup.

 

“She doesn’t remember me,” she continues, fighting a tear that is forming behind her eyelashes.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

An apology from Raven Reyes was definitely not on her list of expectations, so it comes as a surprise, pleasant or otherwise she doesn’t know yet. She looks up from the cup to a guilty-looking engineer, her heart pounding against her chest as Raven struggles to direct her own brown eyes into green ones.

 

“I know I shouldn’t have done what I did three years ago.” A quiver in her voice only does little justice to her words.

 

“That was three years ago,” Lexa says in a low tone. “I understand why you did it.”

 

Raven shakes her head, not accepting the lenience because she doesn’t think she earns it. “It may have seemed like I had negative feelings towards your friendship with Clarke, but honestly I was just envious.”

 

Braving herself to look into the green pair of eyes, she takes a deep breath, composing herself as the atmosphere stills, Murphy no longer standing by the counter after sensing the strange vibe between the two. The peace talk is long overdue, and probably wouldn’t have ever crossed either of their minds if it weren’t for a certain blonde.

 

Most of their time in high school was never spent around one another; Lexa was wary about opening up to people, and constantly she would put on her armor whenever she stepped into the outside world. Raven, however, was always the center of attention, giving speeches about having to live her life with a brace after an accident caused nerve damage to her left leg, and going out to Brazil, not letting restrictions of movement stop her.

 

“I was wrong. I knew from the start that Clarke had feelings for you, because that was the only thing she kept telling me,” Raven chuckles lightly, “but she never had the courage to come clean. I didn’t want to budge and put my nose in between your businesses.”

 

But, why? Why is she telling her all this right now?

 

“Remember that art show the city organized a year before the end of high school?” Lexa nods, a gesture for the other to continue. She had been the one to persuade Clarke to send in a few of her art pieces, and when two were showcased at the exhibition, the artist was overjoyed she couldn’t stop thanking Lexa for her support.

 

“A representative from UAL in London flew in that day, and was beyond impressed with the complexity and sentiments of Clarke’s work. She was offered an art scholarship on the day of graduation,” Raven tells her.

 

A knot forms in the pit of her stomach when all of the information forces upon her, disappointment branching out when Raven’s locution sinks in. Why hadn’t Clarke told her about this? There were almost no secrets between the two of them before Clarke left Polis, and Lexa can’t help but wince at the word _almost_.

 

Her face falls slightly, blood in her veins hammers against the walls as she suddenly feels desperate to get to her best friend, to question or to see her, she doesn’t know. For one, she’s aware of why being the last person to learn about this matter, hurts.

 

A lot of things can happen in three years.

 

“She wasn’t one to boast, especially when it comes to art,” Lexa finally says after what seemed like an eternity.

 

Raven offers a tight-lipped smile, astonished by how calm Lexa’s been since the start of their conversation. If the situation was reversed, she would have exploded under a minute.

 

A lump forms in her throat as she tries to formulate words. She clears her throat as if to seek courage, prompting Lexa to lift her gaze, ready for the next big thing.

 

Except; she was far from ready.

 

“When she got there, she met an accident.”

 

That was all it took for the world around her to crumble, falling apart as instantly as the strike of a lightning, crushing her bones and puncturing her heart, mercilessly. She can’t even feel it pounding against her chest, and for one second she’s certain she’s lost it.

 

It makes sense. Why Clarke never called, why she never texted. She wishes time would just stand still for a moment, because for once she needs to think for herself. Alexandria Woods needs a break.

 

“Wh – What?” She manages to choke out under a breath, slouching away from the back of her chair slightly as if this would all disappear with a motion.

 

“Abby wanted to keep it under wrap, and I swore I would never tell a soul. The accident caused damage to her nerves, and she was diagnosed with dissociative amnesia,” Raven reveals. “Therapy only helped her regain parts that she wanted to remember.”

 

“I wanted to call you, but when I thought of the night she came home crying after you kissed her, I couldn’t do it.”

 

_What?_

 

Raven notices the green eyes widen in shock, lips part but no words conveyed. The cup of coffee sitting in between them is no longer radiating heat when fingers curl around its circumference, so she peers at the lipstick stain on the rim of the paper cup.

 

“Of course you wouldn’t remember,” Raven starts again, this time slightly coldly. “You were so drunk you kissed probably without even meaning to.”

 

Before the barista could admonish herself for her mistake (one that alcohol had erased from her mind), the brunette speaks.

 

“You called her Costia.”

 

Repudiation sprinkles all over her when the memory comes back, stupid and infuriating. Why had she allowed herself to drink so much that night, to the point where she couldn’t differentiate between reality and imagination? She blinks at her foolishness, and a rush of guilt washes over her.

 

Who is she to blame Raven and Abby for the decisions they made? When her best friend woke up on a hospital bed, taking in her surroundings in a fearful and confused state of mind, losing her memories to an accident that she could’ve stopped, had she not left the country?

 

She was the reason why it happened.

 

Tears fall before she knows it, and doesn’t realize that she’s shaking involuntarily. Her best friend was out there, her life in danger, and yet Lexa could only blame herself for not trying hard enough to look for her. She didn’t question why Clarke gave her radio silence for three whole years, all the while believing the blonde didn’t want to be found.

 

Her thoughts blur out when she feels a hand above her own, a pair of worried hazel eyes staring into hers, bringing her back to the ground.

 

“Lexa, are you okay?”

 

“Am I okay? No, Raven, I’m far from okay. I had been in the dark for three long years of not knowing a single thing about the pain she was suffering, and you chose to only tell me this now. Would you have kept this from me if Clarke hadn’t returned?”

 

She refrains herself from screaming, not wanting any attention from her colleagues, who are thankfully out of sight. A red tint shows on her cheek as she rubs a hand across to wipe her tears, the color of anger or friction she doesn’t know.

 

Shaking her head, she falls back against the chair, a part of her unwilling to accept what she has just heard. She isn’t mad at Raven for hiding this important truth from her, because she knows that they both want the best for Clarke.

 

Silence conquers the air between them for a long minute, before one decides to lighten the situation.

 

“She deserves the world,” Raven says in a tone that sounds almost like a whisper. “And I think you’re the only one who can give her that.”

 

A bolt of surprise surmounts whatever is left of her previous sentiments, yet soon is replaced by skepticism. Warmth spreads as the hand on her own gives a squeeze, hoping the message of comfort is delivered.

 

“You love her?” Raven asks, her lips twitch upward so ever slightly.

 

“She has a boyfriend,” Lexa states sadly.

 

“She doesn’t see him the way she used to look at you,” Raven says. “I know Clarke. She tends to oversee things that are important to her because she cares more about others.”

 

“What am I supposed to do when she doesn’t even remember how we met?” Her voice cracks at the harrowing verity, fresh tears forming at its wake.

 

“They will come back to her. The memories,” the other says. “You’re the catalyst she needs.”

 

“What if the reason why she doesn’t remember is because she doesn’t _want_ to remember me?”

 

“Clarke can never want to forget you, Lexa. To her, you are the best thing to have ever happened.”

 

Or is ‘ _were’_ a better word in that statement? Lexa flinches at the past tense, which Raven is able to pick up by observing the expression on her face.

 

“There’s still time for things to take a turn. Please don’t give her up.”

 

The sincerity in her voice stirs a strange feeling in her, and like a shockwave every cell in her body awakens as charges pass through. It’s conspicuous that Raven’s making an effort to redeem herself, and hopes for Lexa to do the same.

 

“I have to see her,” Lexa concludes, pushing away everything else in her mind as she stands abruptly, fire burning her soul at the prospect of getting Clarke back.

 

A smile appears in the corner of Raven’s red lips; she’s glad that her purpose has been served. “Go,” she says, tilting her head towards the door. “Don’t be late this time.”

 

She hopes and prays that she arrives before Clarke with an unclouded, trouble-free mind, grooming the eloquence she used to possess.

 

She’s never been as convinced about anything in her life as she is now.

 

She’s in love with Clarke Griffin.  

  

*

 

Even after all the persuasions and culpability that imbued her with great élan, she finds herself siting at the same spot at Lola’s for four consecutive hours, her mind fogging with each passing second. When Lexa left Polaris at 3pm, she was set on meeting Clarke, but being physically by the building of her apartment was a whole new challenge she didn’t expect, leading to an internal disintegration. It reminded her of the past; Clarke would always invite her to come over whenever she had a weekend off, with watching Netflix and winning at chess the common occurrences.

 

But, she wasn’t aware of Clarke’s feelings then. She had always thought Costia was the one for her.

 

People say the significant things take time to happen, and that they’re worth living and fighting out your ways for. Love is one of those things, and falling in love is hard to come by. She had missed her best friend every rainy day since she left, for three painfully prolonged years, and as each day passed she failed to realize the most crucial part of it all.

 

She fell in love with Clarke Griffin in the time she spent missing her presence.

 

A shadow in the shape of a crescent moon sneaks in the top of her vision, inducing the lift of her gaze from the empty glass in the line of her sight. The effect from the liquor she consumed starts to show when her cheeks flush with heat, but she doesn’t take it as a sign to stop.

 

Her eyes catch a smiling blonde-haired youngster behind the expensive timber, with an 8oz glass filled with transparent liquid in his hand. It takes her five seconds to remember seeing him before.

 

“Been a while since you last came,” Aden says, placing the drink next to her empty one.

 

“I didn’t order this,” Lexa tells, pushing it towards his side of the table.

 

“I know. Try it. It’s my newest creation,” he insists.

 

The debate dies down when Lexa accepts the offer, downing it in a swift motion, wincing when it runs down her throat. The absence of the silver badge that he wore when she was last here comes to her attention, but she doesn’t ask.

 

“I co-own this place now, with Anya,” he announces when Lexa’s questioning expression gives away.

 

Lexa nods in acknowledgement. She hasn’t seen the older woman for a while, too. When she came here on a Friday night those years ago, she did have a conversation with Anya, of course that was before she was inebriated. Her head couldn’t get around why her then-girlfriend left without a word, and it surprised her that the other co-owner sat down next to her to console her.

 

“Is this about the same girl?”

 

The question surprises her, catching her off-guard for a brief moment but long enough to fall into the mesh she has been trying to avoid. She thinks of Clarke; of how she picked up the phone when she called, of how she rushed over to see if she was alright, of how she did all the things for her no matter how extensive the inconveniences were.

 

The same realization reverberates in the core of her, hearing the thumps against the walls of her chest as if to tell her that finally, this is when her head unites with her heart.

 

Alexandria Woods has been in love with Clarke Griffin the moment she stepped out of her life.

 

The bartender eyes her, recognizing the look on her face, somewhere between the spectrums of self-reproach and self-condemn. He awaits a response which eventually comes in the form of a shake of head. His head dips in understanding.

 

“When I first started working here, I was only interested in mixing drinks and getting good feedbacks from whoever gives. Money was never an incentive because I find pleasure in what I do best.”

 

Curved lines of bafflement mold on her face, not grasping what he’s trying to emanate, so he proceeds to dissolve the vagueness.

 

“What I’m trying to say is, you should pursue it. Euphoria,” Aden says. “I don’t know you personally, but I can see that she’s important to you.”

 

He turns around to leave, but not before another assertion for Lexa to ponder. “You weren’t as broken-hearted three years ago as you are now.”

 

His words ring in her ears so loudly, and it’s impossible for her to miss. Today marks the day she triumphs over the intoxicating fluid she allowed entrance to, but a rainbow doesn’t always come after the rain.

 

* * *

 

Returning to work after two days of leave is a new routine she doesn’t adapt to, because Lexa is clear and capable of separating feelings from her duties.

 

Or is she?

 

After the talk at Lola’s two nights ago she almost, _almost_ gave in to her desires; to see Clarke, to wrap her arms around her, to hug her tight and stay like that for hours. But then she remembered the smile that appeared when a text from her boyfriend came in, followed by a crushing twist in her bones that told her that maybe it was too late to fix things.

 

Bellamy sees her first, and greets her with a wave of hand. She returns the gesture immediately, heading straight into the kitchen to put on her apron, the footsteps trailing behind her amplify. A hand grabs on her shoulder gently to slow her down, and when she turns around she’s met with a pair of concerned eyes, non-verbally asking her how she is.

 

“I heard what happened from Raven,” he says cautiously, afraid to trigger the off-switch this early in the morning. “If you need more time off, let me know. Don’t be a stranger.”

 

She may be keeping her cool in front of him, but inside she has so much respect for her boss. He isn’t pushy or overbearing, unlike her previous employers who had treated her less because she didn’t attend college.

 

As a token of thanks, she smiles, feeling the reassuring squeeze the hand on her shoulder gives.

 

When Lexa prepares the last cup of coffee before the end of her shift, the day’s already gone. Relief comes in pieces; and she’s thankful she hasn’t let whatever happened have power over her to screw things up.

 

She hasn’t seen Clarke in two days, and a strange twiddle forms in her stomach at the thought.

 

Costia calls to let her know that the meeting at the city yesterday went really well, and that she will be back in Polis in a couple of days. It’s heartening to see that, after the event that nearly costed her life nearly four years ago, she’s able to pick herself up, to be living the life she yearns for.

 

The hour hand on the clock hit 7pm when Lexa leaves her workplace, letting Harper and Murphy take over the rest with support from Bellamy. He’s been exceptionally kind to her throughout the day, looking out for her during breaks, and he even offered her his favorite brand of cookies.

 

Ten minutes later she arrives at the door of her home, searches for the keys in her satchel bag. When she finds them, she realizes the door had been unlocked and left slightly ajar. The possibilities of running into an intruder and having her privacy violated provoke her with anger, because she really doesn’t need more on her already occupied plates.

 

Pushing the door slowly, Lexa enters with small and hushed steps, feeling the breeze against her skin as her senses heighten. It’s a really horrible idea to walk in with no weapons to protect herself, but right now her safety is the last thing she gives a damn about.

 

She’s too tired to think for herself.

 

When she reaches to switch on the lights, a person comes into sight, standing still in the hallway with her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, a journal clasped in one hand that has a ring on it.

 

Lexa’s journal.

 

That’s when she knows that _she knows_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! I've been dealing with unwanted life issues, hence the delay. I foresee two/three more chapters to TTSWM, in which whatever shit happened at the end of this chapter will be explained in the next. Hope you enjoy, and I'd love to hear from you awesome faithful readers! xx


	7. distant memories, fond feelings

Six hours earlier

 

When a text message comes through, the location and time already agreed upon by the sender and receiver, every second suddenly turns gold; she heads for the city nearly two hours away.

 

Clarke naps throughout the journey, only waking occasionally when the car vibrated too violently at traffic stops. It still scares her, and she doesn’t know how she’s doing it. She doesn’t what in her had allowed herself to hop on a cab, alone, when she could have easily asked someone like Finn or Raven or even Lexa to be her one-day companion.

 

But of course, she has her reason for that matter. 

 

Being in this small space definitely oozes an unpleasant feeling, like the same horrible thing is going to happen all over again. Clarke’s unsure she can handle another bad case of déjà vu, after having gone through it constantly for the past few days.

 

She closes her eyes and shoves the thought away.

 

_I’m going to be okay. Everything will be fine._

 

On her left stands a tall, modern, exquisite edifice, the concrete embedded in cavernous mass of cemented turf. She’s surprised she hadn’t noticed the complex when she and Finn passed by days ago, and now she’s watching all sorts of entity pass by it actually feels like she’s on another planet.

 

It’s all so familiar to her, so close, like she never left town. Yet a lot of things around her are different, in what way she doesn’t know, but the changes are definitely there.

 

Five minutes deep into her cogitation the left indicator of the vehicle lights up, moving inside the yellow box before the driver tells her they’ve reached the destination. He has this vexed look on his face, like someone owes him the world, and Clarke doesn’t say anything other than a thank you after she pays the amount, with a generous tip of ten bucks.

 

Minneapolis looks breathtaking, especially today with the sun out, showcasing its heat to the people in the capital. It poured down the whole day yesterday she stayed indoors, the need to get her morning caffeine fix at Polaris regrettably forsaken, so she spent hours sketching a few random scenery, but she never got to fill them with hues.

 

Glancing at the watch on her left wrist, Clarke sighs deeply. She really, really wants to fix it, because it’s the only thing left of her dad, and she wants it to be a living memory of him.

 

She walks further down the pavement, the bistro just feet away now. When she pushes open the glass door, the mixed smell of cinnamon and coffee doesn’t surprise her. A staff member who’s currently clearing a table greets her with the widest smile she’s seen today, and it does make her feel better.

 

Scanning across the relatively huge room, she catches a familiar-looking brunette in the corner, hair loosely curled, a black biker jacket and a pair of ripped jeans hugging her body. Clarke only sees her side profile as the brunette tilts her head down slightly to take a sip of her steaming tea, her other hand flipping through the magazine on her lap.

 

The appearance of this girl – no, this woman, is stunning from her point of view. Her features are sharper, jawline more defined and her skin a tone or two darker. She isn’t the same from how Clarke remembers, but then again, they haven’t seen each other since that day.

 

The day Octavia Blake fell out with her older brother.

 

_“If you walk out that door, I swear to God, O, a mistake will be done.” At the exasperated tone of the older Blake, Octavia turns around, coming eye-to-eye with him._

_“You’re still missing the point, aren’t you Bell? For once just pull your head out of your ass. You’re not seventeen anymore.”_

_Octavia’s standing by the door, her hand already grasping at its handle, and with a little more force she could break it into halves. Her brother, however, is keeping his distance from her because it seems like the most sensible thing to do, with the argument only fueling and not evanescing._

_Clarke is there too, next to Bellamy. She had come all the way from Polis, bearing food as gifts. Raven was held up by an important project that she has to finish within the weekend, leaving them no choice but to cancel their initial plan. When she arrived at the Blake’s household, she never expected to witness what’s playing in front of her right now._

_“Have you forgotten how Mom died?!”_

_He says those words so quickly, a question or not but they are razor-sharp, and Clarke knows to hold him back by the shoulder to refrain anymore spit to the already blazing fire._

_Aurora Blake died, although_ was murdered _would be more precise, two months ago from a stab wound in the lower abdomen. Bellamy was in school when an intruder tried to rob their money and other valuables, pointing his knife straight at Octavia. Unwilling to show her fear she scuffled with him, only for Aurora to interfere and sacrifice her life to save her daughter._

_The doctors tried, but the wound was too deep in and she had already lost too much blood. Octavia failed to knock the killer down before he fled, and as a result she lost her mother, too._

It’s all my fault _._

_Not a day goes by without her blaming herself, putting herself down so much she doesn’t see light anymore._

_It doesn’t take much to convince herself that she had been the cause of her mother’s death._

_“I may be younger than you, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to babysit me anymore.”_

_With that Octavia pulls open the door and storms out of the house in tears, shouldering her backpack so it doesn’t slide off. Clarke knows that her words have hit Bellamy right in the heart, seeing him immobile when his sister left. He’s shaking because he doesn’t know what to do._

_“Octavia, wait!”_

_She stops right in front of her car, but she doesn’t turn to face the blonde._

_“I know Bellamy can be –”_

_She doesn’t get to finish. “Stay out of our family matters, Clarke.”_

_Clarke blinks, taking a step back from the impertinent treatment. An audible sigh escapes from the lips of the girl standing in the driveway, and her head sinks a little._

_“If you really want to know, I’m not doing this just for her. I’m doing this for me, too.”_

_And those were the last words exchanged before Octavia climbs up her Jeep and left the house she was raised in._

* * *

 

“Octavia Blake,” Clarke says almost incredulously, approaching the empty seat on her side of the table.

 

The mentioned looks up from the publication, offers a smile before placing her cup on the wooden top, and it grows even wider when the blonde let her eyes wander over the woman in front of her. There’s a whiff of bafflement on Clarke’s face when Octavia, whom she has regarded a little sister, is in reality now standing right in front of her, all grown up and beautified.

 

She greets the artist by her name, but it barely comes out. Clarke has thrown her arms around the other without giving the latter a chance to respond verbally, but she falls into the tight embrace anyway.

 

From where they’re seated, the view’s pretty panoramic through the immaculate transparent planes of thick glass, and there’s a craft shop just across the road that Clarke would like to check out. They haven’t exchanged that many words since they reunited ten minutes ago, but it’s a comfortable silence.

 

The iced caramel latte Clarke ordered arrives before her a minute later, whipped cream thick on top of the sweet caffeinated liquid. On any other day she orders a cappuccino the way she likes it, but today’s inexplicably dissimilar to the usual days. Or that she feels.

 

“How have you been, O?” Sure, it’s the same old boring platitude used to start a conversation, especially if you don’t mean what you ask.

 

But Clarke’s genuine about knowing how her friend’s been the past few years.

 

The iced coffee makes its way inside her throat through a straw, quenching her thirst from the undesirable thoughts before she made it here.

   

“Really good. You?”

 

Clarke nods, as if to say the same. She notices another change in Octavia, a good one; she’s no longer the timid acquiescent high schooler that she used to know so well. Those attributes aren’t in hindsight anymore; instead a matured and outspoken adult has taken her place in the years of no physical interactions or communications.

 

Of course, that was before the budding artist picked up her phone and called her up for a personal favor.

 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Clarke admits. “I’m sorry we met like this.”

 

“You should be,” Octavia replies with a stern expression, the last bit of her smile gone before it comes back copious. The blonde almost stands up to ruffle her hair because this is such an awful joke to make.

 

“You were like a big sister I never had.”

 

As much as she tries not to let the use of past tense affect her, the best fake smile she displays betrays her soon after. Octavia’s face softens when she sees the fall of pink lips, so she does what she should have done years ago in person. She apologizes.

 

“I know it’s a bit too late, but I’m sorry I snapped at you those years ago. I know you meant well.”

 

“It’s okay, O. People make mistakes. It’s only fair that they get second chances.”

 

 Judging by the wince on her face Clarke knows she’s hit her core. “He misses you, you know?”

 

The brunette takes a nervous sip of her tea, obviously not comfortable at the mention of her brother whom she hasn’t seen for three years. On the night she and her friends had dinner together, they went out to Lola’s where Bellamy had too much to drink he started opening up about Octavia.

 

_“I haven’t heard from her since the moment she walked out the door.”_

 

The sight wasn’t pretty. The toxic liquid flushed through his system, and in no more than half an hour he was down. If Finn weren’t there to help, they wouldn’t know how to manage an inebriated Bellamy.

 

“How is he?” Octavia finally asks after what seems like an eternity.

 

“He’s running a café down on the street in Polis, it’s pretty lit,” Clarke chuckles. “Who would have known this was going to happen?”

 

A hint of a proud smile shows on the other woman’s lips, indicating she’s no longer that mad at her brother anymore. Clarke wants to ask if she will ever come to visit, but she’s fine leaving the conversation at that point.

 

They’ve been in the restaurant for close to an hour now, with Octavia’s city life as a newly-promoted detective and Clarke’s future plans on her artwork being the main subjects in their talk.

 

“So who got lucky?” Octavia asks, nodding towards the silver band on her ring finger.

 

“His name is Finn. We met two years ago at uni,” Clarke tells, rubbing a thumb around the metal, reality sinking in once again.

 

Finn proposed to Clarke two nights ago, much to her surprise. Normally she finds out about his plans hours or even days before they’re arranged to take place, but the follow-up after dinner was not on her list of things to look out for.

 

He was sweet, sweeter than usual. She had no idea the ‘I have another conference to attend tomorrow morning so I have to rush to the city right after dinner’ was part of the scheme; because with that said she knew not to expect anything at all.

 

“Congratulations. I’m happy for you, Clarke.”

 

“Thanks, O.”

 

A pause out of nowhere stands in between them, the half empty plastic cup awkward in its position, before Clarke starts zoning out a little, her face pale in the light of the sun. A throb in her temple starts to irritate, and so she rubs two fingers to soothe the pain.

 

A gush of the summer wind enters when the door at the entrance is pushed open, and for some reason it prompts Clarke to lift her head up. The bistro welcomes an elegant young woman, perhaps a few years older than her, dressed in smart attire and black stiletto heels, somehow giving away her profession.

 

When the blonde squints to get a better view, it strikes her that she’s looking at a familiar face. She isn’t sure where she’s seen these features, most probably on one of those online articles she came across when she was surfing the Web.

 

“Are you okay, Clarke?”

 

Turning back to Octavia, she gives a nod. “I haven’t been sleeping well these few nights. Do repetitive strange dreams keep you awake? I can’t tell whether they’re real or made up.”

 

Octavia furrows her brow in confusion, but the blonde simply dismisses it with a shake of head. The detective decides to take this as her cue to begin discussing their main purpose of meeting up today.

 

“So you wanted me to look up Gustus Woods in our files.”

 

Clarke tilts her head down apologetically. “It must have been hard for you to comply with my request, especially with the promotion and all.”

 

“I trust you, Clarke. That’s why I’m helping you.”

 

Solemnity acquires the tone of her voice and the look on face, and Clarke swears for a moment she doesn’t recognize this Octavia Blake.

 

“Gustus Woods was involved in a hit-and-run nearly four years ago, and he died in the hospital hours after being found on the side of the road. We still don’t have an identity of the perpetrator, not even a suspect, so no arrests have been made so far. There wasn’t a witness or surveillance cameras near the crime scene.”

 

“He had no wife, no kids. This next bit is classified, and if any of this goes out, he and I are going to get into trouble.”

 

Clarke almost asks who has been included in their conversation, but she’s really more interested in this Gustus Woods.

 

“His brother left a huge amount of money and a piece, a huge piece of land to his own daughter, but at the time she was not of age yet, those properties were transferred to him until she reached twenty one, which incidentally happened five days ago.”

 

“She resides in Polis. And if that’s not enough of a coincidence, you know her. Well, I might add. It’s your Lexa.”

 

Lexa is Gustus Woods’ niece? That doesn’t surprise her that much, because what does Lexa being related to this poor man have to do with Finn’s unexplained behavior?

 

Hold on.

 

_It’s your Lexa._

 

“Wait, what? How do you know I know her?”

 

Octavia shoots her an incredulous look, because Clarke’s not one to joke around about friendships, especially the one they’re talking about.

 

“We met once at one of _your_ birthday parties, but that was ages ago.”

 

The brunette has got to be pulling some tricks on her. Clarke had only met Lexa a few days ago, a totally unplanned occurrence of bumping into each other, and sure it may seem a little odd that this stranger then had already induce an effect on her, appearing in most of the dreams she deems peculiar.

 

Her mind turns into a complicated mess as she tries hard to make sense out of Octavia’s words. At this point it’s not so easy to invalidate what’s already been claimed.

 

Octavia notices the growing discomfort within her friend, and she can only mirror the confused expression on her face.

 

“Didn’t you go to high school with her?”

 

One question flies out there and she breaks. The asker hasn’t been in contact with any of them, of course she hasn’t found out about Clarke’s accident. She has no idea how much it has taken away from her friend.

 

Something flashes in her head, and at the pain she groans low.

The books that fell into sticky mud, soft brown curls under the moonlight, the school hallway, the flaring disco lights, the whiskey and soda, that one smile, those green eyes. Alexandria Woods.

 

_Oh God._

 

The dreams she had been having weren’t dreams at all. They were as real as they felt. She couldn’t understand why the barista was acting in such way with her, but now she knows why their first encounter outside Polaris was what it was; uncanny.

 

A phone call interrupts them, but she’s half relieved she gets a few seconds off the trail. She can’t think straight right now.

 

The number calling in isn’t one she recognizes, but she picks it up anyway, because it’s what not being able to think straight makes you do.

 

“Hello?” It comes out a little harsh to which Octavia catches, but she doesn’t show.

 

“Clarke Griffin? It’s me, Monty.”

 

“I.T Monty?” Clarke asks, but the wisp of frustration in her voice fails to surprise the caller.

 

“That would be me,” he chuckles, not knowing he’s been caught in the middle of an ongoing crossfire.

 

“Why are you calling?”

 

There’s a short pause on the other end of the line, the insolent tone has possibly given him a better idea of a terribly-timed phone call. “Listen, I know I haven’t been the most efficient at the times of need, but when I said I would return the favor one day, I meant it.”

 

Clarke knows he’s talking about the incident that took place during her first year in college. He was stuck in a bar after having lost his wallet to a pickpocket, no cash in hand, and Clarke pitied the guy so she offered to pay for him.

 

“I managed to retrieve some data from your number prior to the date it got reactivated again.”

 

This was the favor she had requested for when Monty asked when they ran into each other again in the same bar. She was eager before, but now? She doesn’t know how she feels about it, about potentially finding out whether or not a truth lies within Octavia’s words.

 

“I sent it through email, so you should see it in your inbox.”

 

“Thanks, Monty.”

 

“Don’t mention it, Clarke. See you before you go down your artistic path?”

 

Her lips twitch upwards only slightly, gravity still a winner in pulling down the weight of all the information that has been forced upon her. “Sure.”

 

When the call ends, a notification pops up on the screen that discloses Monty Green and the subject of the email. The meet up isn’t supposed to whirl this way, or is it? Clarke misses the frown on her friend’s face (she forgets she isn’t alone at the table).

 

“Everything alright, Clarke? You don’t look so good.”

 

“Yeah. Sorry, O. I –,” Clarke stutters, her whole body trembles at her own words. The lines on Octavia’s face deepen with worry when the blonde never finished her sentence, but she gives her time.

 

Are the contents of her own story going to haunt her when she lets them in? Are they going to ruin her or save her? There’s only one way to find out.

 

Hesitantly, her thumb moves to tap on the potential game changer, and it comes up in a full screen mode. Lines and lines of messages follow when she scrolls the page down slowly, blurry even at this pace. Her heart’s racing with every motion of her eyes, scanning black and white across the bright screen of her phone, trying to read them one by one. Then it almost stops.

 

_‘Three years of friendship in the making, and I have to admit. I’ve grown fond of you, Clarke.’ – Lexa to Clarke_

_‘Clarkey! Netflix and chill? I got beans!’ – Raven to Clarke_

 

_‘You said you wouldn’t reveal the champagne-in-the-school-library incident in your speech! You gave me your word! I’m so disappointed.’ – Clarke to Lexa_

_‘You should tell her how you feel, if that’s what you really want. You know I’m always here, even if the confession don’t go right. Xxx’ – Raven to Clarke_

_‘Please call me when you arrive.’ – Lexa to Clarke_

She can’t believe her eyes. Her face pales as the text messages, listed in a non-chronological order, sink in, causing the beat of her heart to go out of rhythm. If this is how suffocating feels like, there’s a chance she’ll never break surface.

 

But the email doesn’t end there. Three draft messages come after the white space, and oh how much she wishes it stretches down.

 

_‘Hey, Lex. Are you still up? Can I call you? I need to talk to you…’_

_‘Hey, where are you?’_

_‘I’m safe, Lex. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.’_

Reading those lines again and again may have become increasingly difficult, but the acceptance of all of it? It’s paradoxical. Never in her life did she expect to land in such turmoil. A realization blows in her face when she remembers bits and pieces of her past; Lexa was once her entire world. The Lexa she knows now isn’t even close to that. She doesn’t know this Lexa.

 

Unconsciously her hands start to shake, tears forming under her eyelashes, her phone only hanging loosely between her fingers as she absorbs the actuality, although certitude doesn’t come with the package. She needs more than just quotes and phrases that have been thrown at her to absolutely dissolve her doubts. She needs corroborations from the person herself.

 

An airy breath escapes her lips as she tries to calm her nerves and the haphazard sensation spreading all over her. The brunette sitting opposite to her is still eying her warily, but she doesn’t shift when she sees the gloss on Clarke’s face. Instead, she lets a word out of her opening.

 

“Clarke?”

 

“I… I have to go. Something just cropped up and I have to get back. I’ll call you later?” There isn’t much control over her voice, but that doesn’t matter right now. She’s about to splinter.

 

Clarke stands up hastily to leave, and dashes towards the door in wobbly steps without another glance, leaving a gaping Octavia behind wondering what she’s done to stir this sudden outburst.

 

The outline of the craft shop vanishes from the tip of her head. 

* * *

 

This trip was one she was looking forward to, and she did want to make it count. With Finn constantly busying himself with work, they haven’t been out that much to see what she’s missed in the years she was away. Now it’s just gone haywire.

 

The return journey is shorter, but with everything that’s spinning in her head, it sure feels like an excruciatingly prolonged time. She doesn’t think of the accident during the ride back. She doesn’t think of answers to this driver’s easy questions. She thinks about the memories, the laughs, the aches, the tears, the person. She thinks about Lexa.

 

The feelings are returning to her, slowly but surely, but they’re bedaubed with anger. Why, when she could, did she not acknowledge her? Why had she lied about not knowing Clarke?

 

A cathedral comes into sight, and a sense of relief comes and goes swiftly when they reach the outskirts of Polis. It’s almost 6pm when the cab stops at the stand near a block of apartments. How she ends up outside this building, she’s not entirely certain.

 

The throbbing pain in her head doesn’t cease when she climbs up a flight of stairs, each successive step more strenuous than the previous. Soon she’s there, standing outside number four, and it’s so painfully familiar, like she’s known the place all her life. What astonishes her is that she’s still breathing at this stage of the brutal game, and she’s going to take a gamble out of it.

 

She isn’t surprised the slightest when she sees the flowerpots, two on either sides of the door, blue Forget-Me-Nots alluring and seemingly well taken care of. The petals are soft and damp when a finger touches their surfaces, and a small smile cracks at the end of her mouth.

 

They’re her favorites, too.

 

Is it habitual or is it instinctive? Clarke questions herself when she reaches a hand out, feeling the mat on the right, pressed under the fourth pot from the left. There’s a tiny bump just under it when she raises the china, a key lies underneath the coarse material.

 

It’s both a habit and an instinct.

 

Coldness from the gold plated metal spreads over her palm in a similar way the anxiety, rage and dubiety unfurl, consuming her as she drives the key into the hole, but her shaky hand makes the job impossible.

 

Eventually she succeeds in trying; the door unlocks and here’s another decision she’s got to make. She can leave right now, and pretend to not know what she already does, or she can walk in and search for the verification she needs.

 

Clarke decides a situation which entails running away isn’t something she wants, and so she pushes the door open, entering with careful light footsteps as if to avoid a deathtrap’s waiting on the other side of the wooden plane.

 

An unwonted emotion crawls up the length of her epidermis when she takes in the scene; crimson sofas, coffee table, marble top, walls painted a lighter shade of brown. These objects were carved in her suppressed memory, and the fact that she remembers them so easily, scares her.

 

This is an invasion of privacy, but Clarke really can’t care less now that her mind’s fucked up.

 

Running her eyes all over the place an overwhelming sentiment flogs her with an imaginary whip that her knees almost buckle. She’s been here in the hallway before, not once, but so many times she lost count. Before she knows it, tears are already falling down her cheeks, but she does nothing to stop them.

 

Slowly she moves through, touching everything she passes like each would help in her remembrance. And there she is, facing another ordinary door in the corner of the living area. If she chooses to grab the knob and see what’s inside, there’s no turning back.

 

She does it anyway, because the whys in her head are too ample to ignore.

 

An extremely familiar scent attacks her nostrils the moment she invites herself into Lexa’s bedroom; jasmine and passionfruit. The arrangement of the room is still the way she remembers it. Cozy and homely, with decorative fairy lights attached in a non-linear manner on the wall where the bed’s against.

 

If Clarke thinks everything’s changed whilst she was gone, she’s wrong.

 

The back of a standing picture frame on the white nightstand by the bedframe catches her attention. She hesitates to stride over, but at the same time she’s dying to know _why._

 

A twinge burns in her stomach when light reflects off the item. It’s a picture of her and Lexa, looking younger, happier and _well-acquainted._ The blonde has one arm around her, pulling the latter in for a side hug as a smiling Lexa looks into the camera. Clarke, however, has her eyes fixed on the brunette, staring at her like she’s the sun to her world.

 

Anyone could see that sparkle, the one that signifies _love_.

 

It’s too patent to miss.

 

If that isn’t much of a discovery, she pulls open the drawer that’s been left slightly ajar, what looks like a personal journal the first thing she sees. Its cover is a watercolor painting of a deer looking straight out of the flat surface, and Clarke has to admit that it’s beautiful.

 

She should have known this was coming. She should have known that once she crosses the bridge, there’s no going back.

 

The pounding gets louder and faster, and Clarke swears her heart’s on the verge of leaping. The tears on her smooth skin have already dried up, but the day’s not getting any better. She’s about to dig deeper into this existing abyss, and no, she isn’t prepared for what’s to come.

 

_‘Graduation’s in a month’s time. So excited to leave and get into law school.’_

_‘Clarke left. Costia’s back.’_

_‘If Raven hadn’t told me about her feelings, I wouldn’t have known. I should’ve known.’_

_‘It was all my fault.’_

_‘It’s been a week. Did she see my text? If she did, then why hasn’t she replied?’_

_‘I flew over there to look for her, the places I thought she would visit because she’s such a people person.’_

_‘I’m turning nineteen tomorrow, but it won’t be the same without her.’_

_‘Got my first job at Khan’s, but the supervisor doesn’t seem to like me very much. Is it because I’m young? Or the fact that I’m not going to college?’_

_‘Will I ever see her again?’_

These pieces from the entries become sculptures in the hollowness of her brain. It’s too much for her to take in, but she keeps flipping, the intention to stop not on the list. She realizes a huge gap in between the dates, denoting that Lexa’s only resumed writing in her journal just days ago.

 

After she met Clarke Griffin again for the first time in three years.

 

_‘I saw her today. Clarke. I thought I was seeing things, but no. She was very real. We ran into each other outside the café, and she looks good. So good. Her hair’s now shorter and lighter? Her eyes are so blue and she’s so, so beautiful.’_

_‘But she doesn’t remember me? I was sure she said it because she was still mad at me, but she wasn’t lying. Nothing in her eyes told that she knew me. So I left her there without thinking what I was doing. The pain stings.’_

 

_‘Costia’s too nice to me. I don’t deserve her, especially after what happened four years ago. When she kissed me tonight, all I felt was the guilt that’s still haunting me as I write this. I loved her though. I really did.’_

There’s a spot on the lined page where it’s drier than the rest, and Clarke knows Lexa was crying when she wrote this entry.

 

_‘I’ve made gravely mistakes today.’_

_‘It’s definitely not a bad thing getting to know Clarke all over again. She’s still the same person; a careless eater and an art enthusiast. She still seems to like the same things. It breaks my heart.’_

_‘Why didn’t my parents tell me I had an uncle?’_

_‘If I hadn’t let her go she wouldn’t have been in that car. If she hadn’t been in that car, she wouldn’t have got into an accident. I could’ve stopped it from happening, yet I let it happen.’_

_‘I almost went up to Clarke and told her about us, about how we were the best of friends, about how she knew me better than anybody else. But I didn’t, because I can’t be selfish. She’s happy with him. I can’t take that away from her.’_

_‘I lost her the moment she left Polis.’_

_‘Stop caring, Lexa.’_

She freezes, suddenly losing control over her fingers as they stay there on the page unmoved. Every single word in black ink that she’s read, they’re stuck in her head now.

 

It’s all real. The dreams, the flashes, the messages.

 

She doesn’t know what to do with them when they register. Had she wanted to find things out this way?

 

Furious doesn’t even come close to what she’s feeling, her whole body tenses with anger. Why, if they were the best of friends as Lexa stated, has she given up on her yet again?

 

Just then she hears a creak coming from the hallway outside, and she knows that she’s not going to get away.

 

Clarke doesn’t spare herself another second to recompose and compartmentalize her thoughts and emotions. Taking big strides out of the bedroom she finds herself in the corridor, facing a faceless shadow in the dark. The lights go on moments later, and that’s when blue meets green.

* * *

 

_“Seriously Lex, why do you have to be such a bitch all the time?”_

_“I’m sorry you got another detention for stealing mark schemes, but how is that my fault?”_

_“I wouldn’t have got caught if you’d kept those suspicious glances to yourself!”_

_“Clarke, you’re taking this too far,” Lexa snarls, turning to leave in a fit of pique._

_The other girl is quick to step in front of her, blocking her path, and the older throws a glare her way._

_“Why is it so difficult for you to just say something? I feel like I don’t know you at all, Lex.”_

_“Maybe it’s because I don’t want you to know me.”_

_“Well you can’t do that. Because I like –”_ You.

 

_Before Clarke could say it out loud and change the world around her, the bell chooses to ring, cutting her off completely. Relief washes over her somehow, because the courage that she spent days accumulating suddenly runs down the sink when Lexa looks at her with those beautiful emerald eyes._

_“You were saying?” The brunette asks, neutrality apparent on her face._

_“Forget it. Can we forget about this too?” Clarke murmurs under her breath._

_“Okay,” Lexa says. She spins around to get to her next lesson, but she stops a few steps into her tracks, her back facing Clarke._

_“I hope you’re right, Clarke.”_

_Clarke had wanted Lexa to open up to her, to stop trapping all her feelings inside a bottle, leaving no space for someone to care. The girl’s never been one trust easily, and Clarke really wants to change that._ Don’t you think you deserve a little better than how you’re putting yourself down, how you’re not letting anyone in because love seems to be out of your reach? If anyone deserves love, it’s you, Lex.

 

_The confession never makes it to the air, but it doesn’t matter. She needs Lexa first._

_A week later, Lexa shows up at Clarke’s apartment at 8pm in a hoodie and a pair of black denim jeans, and to say she’s surprised is an understatement. When she sees her she’s reminded of her own divulged love for the law aficionado, which she dismisses again and refuses to think about._

_Her friend finally succumbs to her own demons, embracing them as angels in another world’s luminosity. Neither of them saw this forthcoming heart-to-heart, which lasts for two long yet worthwhile hours. She ends up staying the night at Clarke's._

_The policy that Lexa had built for trust falls and disintegrates into pieces no longer visible to her._

* * *

 

When the eyes before her widen in shock, everything she was feeling prior to this moment returns to her, suffocating her so much she thinks she might collapse. She doesn’t feel her heartbeat, but she hears it hammer against the wall of her chest so hard the barricade can snap any second.

 

Her knees feel so weak and squishy, like her bones are losing their structures due to calcium deficit. Those green orbs roam over her, and halt when the line of sight intersects her right hand. She tilts her head down to see Lexa’s journal is still enclosed in her grip, so tightly it might sustain irreparable apertures.

 

“Clarke?” Lexa says carefully, still trying to assimilate the situation in front of her.

 

The crease on her face gives it away; Clarke becomes aware that the only other person in the room knows that she knows.

 

Lexa doesn’t have to ask to know that Finn’s proposed and she said yes.

 

For Clarke, maybe it’s the rage that provides the strength she needs to move her entire body. Suddenly she’s on the move again, dropping the book on the top of the counter before gliding down the hallway like she’s defying gravity.   

 

She walks around to get pass Lexa, but the heat that this person’s exuding is too familiar to miss. A feeling splashes over her like a tidal wave, and she hasn’t felt this one in a long time.

 

She  _misses_ Lexa.

 

But she can’t do this right now. She can’t look at her without wanting to punch her in the face for not fighting for herself, for bringing herself down once more.

 

She feels five slender fingers wrap around her wrist, tugging her back gently to stop her.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Clarke warns in a dangerously low voice.

 

“Clarke – ”

 

It all happens so quickly; one second they’re inches apart and when the next comes, Clarke presses Lexa against the wall next to the door, slamming it shut in the process. The space between them now is infinitesimal, and she hears a gasp escape the lips of the victim when her back collides with the hard surface.

 

If the hands on Lexa’s shoulders are hurting her, she doesn’t show.

 

“Why? Why keep your mouth shut when you could’ve told me?” Clarke asks angrily, her grip stronger than before.

 

“If you read the book you would know,” Lexa says, and Clarke tries not to focus on the hot breath that comes with her words.

 

“Fuck the book. I want to hear it from you. Why?”

 

“I can’t say it, Clarke.”

 

The blonde huffs when she hears the answer. “So you take advantage of my condition to instigate a new friendship, and then hide when it becomes too much to bear? Is this all a game to you, Lexa?”

 

Hurt crosses Lexa’s face when the blue gleams with fresh tears, threatening to fall any second if the pricking gets overwhelming. She feels a knot form in the pit of her stomach that only expands with time and it _aches_ so much.

 

Her quivering lips part. “I’m sorry.”

 

The attacker’s taken aback by her apology. She was expecting an explanation for her actions, not words of remorse. But when she looks into the green just a minute distance away, she can see them. The guilt, self-reproach, the shine she knows is a tear that this woman is trying hard not to shed.

 

The surprise causes her to release her grip, arms falling to her sides, and she takes a step back.

 

“I never meant to turn you into this,” Lexa breathes out. 

 

That’s her breaking point. It’s too late to hold back the tears that are already cascading down her red cheeks.

 

“If I were to leave again the second time, would you stop me?”

 

A dead silence follows the crack of her voice. She doesn’t know why she even bothers asking because she doesn’t know this Lexa at all. Hell, a lot of things can change in a span of three years, but some things turn out to stay the same.

 

“No,” Lexa whispers. “I would let you go.”

 

Wrath builds up in her spine when the words make their way through to her ears; is this all she’s worth to her? Someone to let go time after time? Even after all that they’ve been through?

 

 _What exactly_ have they been through together since the day they ran into each other again?

 

The air encompassing them seems to grow thinner each passing second because she’s about to pass out. She needs to get out of here, desperately. Turning to the door on her left she reaches for the handle, but her hands are starting to tremble again. She’s almost out, another step and –

 

“I’m in love with you, Clarke.”

 

She stills. Her hand never leaves the icy surface of the handle, and she keeps her back to Lexa. They stand like that for a minute that feels like forever, before the silence is shattered by the one who’s just declared her feelings.

 

“Clarke, say something please.”

 

All she hears in the most crucial time of her life is the sound of the door handle twisting and two crushing words.

 

“I’m not.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh here it is! Once again I apologize for taking too much time to write this chapter up! Clarke finally knows what's going on! Hope you enjoy this one! Leave me some feedback down in the comment box as I love hearing from you lovely people! x


	8. act of unraveling intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize it took ages to finish up this chapter, school has been pretty hectic lately i didn't have the time to write up. I however do hope you find some answers to questions you had before in chapter eight! Enjoy x

 

There’s something thumping within her, as if to warn the approach of the world’s end sooner than ever. Despite never having any physical sharp implements perforate parts of her, but with those two words said, a bitter reminder in echoes, Lexa’s sure that nothing else could hurt more.

 

Watching the petite back slowly phasing out of her sight, she aches to run towards her, to apologize profusely for the unfairness in her part, to tell her that she never stopped thinking about her, to tell her that she missed her and still does.

 

Instead, her legs remain on the same spot when the door shuts in her face, gravity suddenly too strong for her body to operate. 

 

Five days.

 

That’s the amount of time it took for her heart to break before it even had the chance to reassemble.

 

Only five short days.

 

Maybe it never was possible; to relive the happier days back when Clarke was… Clarke. Back when they were just teenagers doing what normal teenagers would do, living life to the fullest.

 

Lexa ponders the similarities between their encounters (both accidental yet remarkable), the process of getting reacquainted and simply the time they had spent together, even as strangers.

 

Her heart feels heavier with this Clarke, who has turned her back and walked out that door after learning about the truth, than when Lexa heard about the accident from Raven.

 

Now they’re back to square one, but does a base even exist anymore?

 

She doesn’t know how her feet unglued themselves from the floor, but now there she is, laying on her bed, stock-still, as the same words splay across the extent of the white dull ceiling above her. In comparison to the unfair treatments and judgments that she received in her earlier days, this one is worse, because Lexa Woods is on the verge of a breakdown.

 

Has she handled the situation the erroneous way? Should she have told Clarke everything?

 

The truth is she really did want to, she almost did. But, seeing the light on the blonde’s face before everything fell apart proves, and it’s enough to Lexa, that maybe they’re better off going separate ways in life.

 

Maybe Clarke’s better off not knowing their history. Maybe they’re better apart.

 

Her journal, now in a slightly rumpled shape due to the force Clarke exerted earlier, reposes in the empty space next to her, dead and meaningless.

 

When Lexa was still in high school, writing was her means of escaping when life neared intolerable, even though she never physically ran away, but with words it felt like she could. It wasn’t until one day when Clarke finally hit the point in her, allowing her eyes to open and see the world in another perspective. Clarke made her see that there was so much more to life than just battles in her own dark world, and that she shouldn’t have to face them alone when she could have someone to fight them with, and fight for.

 

 _“Life_ is _about more than just surviving your own wars.”_ Clarke’s words echo in the back of her head, exposing her to a familiar ache, poking at her heart so mercilessly.

 

She cracks slowly; the unshed tears that have been building behind the edges of her lashes materialize in darkness as curtains thwart the moonlight from breaching in, a mute world encompasses her.   

 

Lexa doesn’t fall asleep until they soak into the pores of her skin five hours later.

 

Morning crashes in like a breaker, golden hue appear under her puffy eyelids as she wakes. For a moment she forgets the night before entirely, but her peace of mind takes a downward plunge when she flutters her eyes open, her pupils constricting due to the sudden increase in brightness. What’s clearest in her head is the transcending argument, one she hadn’t expected so soon and the only one that broke her into millions of pieces.

 

Sighing heavily, Lexa feels as if a tsunami of culpability has just hit her, breaths coming out in ragged forms, and it’s worrying how even at this early hour in the morning she’s already feeling weak and undeserving of being loved.

 

A loud crash on the other side of her bedroom door shatters her thoughts, causing her to jerk upwards with both eyes sharp on the white laminated door. Lexa mumbles a profanity when it dawns on her that she had forgotten to lock her door last night after -

 

After Clarke left her standing there in halves of halves.

 

Peering around she looks for something to use as a potential weapon, and decides the torchlight on the desk is good enough. She had stopped attending martial art classes after her second year in Polis, but Lexa remembers a few tricks from the experience so she’s not too fearful. Whoever’s in her home doesn’t know what’s coming for them.

 

Silently the brunette gives herself a pat on the shoulder for fixing her bedroom floor because it no longer squeak like it used to, and reaches for the door knob carefully, twisting it open. The action allows the entrance of another flow of smaller noises, seemingly from the kitchen just twenty feet away. A quick glance at her table clock tells her it’s only 7.30AM, and slowly she steps out of her bedroom.

 

Lexa continues to clench her hand around the torchlight as she tiptoes towards the kitchen, only to spot a suitcase by the side of the coffee table. The intruder, who happens to be someone she knows well, doesn’t seem to notice her presence as she puts something into the microwave and sets it to two minutes.

 

“Costia?” Lexa says as she releases her tense grip, her voice still deep with sleep.

 

That startles the older brunette, prompting her to turn around and face Lexa.

 

“Hey,” Costia says. “Did I wake you up?”

 

Lexa shakes her head and gives a gentle smile, the torchlight finally out of her hand when she places it on the counter.

 

“Why were you holding a torchlight?”

 

“No reason,” she lies, not wanting to have to explain the story of last night because it would only break her heart, even though it was never whole to start with. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be back until Sunday.”

 

“That was the plan, but Benjamin said I could come back early if I wanted to. I wanted to give you a surprise but I found you sleeping so soundly on your bed.”

 

“You should have woken me up.”

 

“The last thing I want is to take that from you. You barely sleep anymore.”

 

Upon hearing Costia’s thoughts she responds with a tight-lipped smile. The bags beneath her eyes must have been too dark and obvious, but what good has she done to even deserve this kind soul in her life? It’s this early in the morning, and Alexandria Woods already feels like she’s breaking down, again.

 

“Have you got work in half an hour?”

 

“I called in sick,” Lexa says, moving towards the sofa on her left.

 

A crease appears in between Costia’s eyebrows. “Are you okay, Lex?”

 

The younger nods, but her eyes don’t meet Costia’s. “Yeah. It’s just… The past few days have been… eventful. I got caught off the radar.”

 

Just then the microwave dings, indicating the completion of its task. Costia returns to it to remove two blueberry muffins that are sitting on top of a ceramic plate. Along with a cup of black tea, she offers them to a distraught Lexa.

 

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Costia asks with worry undercoating her tone as she takes a seat next to the barista.

 

Lexa thinks back to when Costia had just returned from South Africa after a year-long trip, and truthfully nothing has been the same since the arrest of two people of interest in the case of abduction. It was supposed to bring some sort of a closure, but it didn’t. Costia needed time to rebalance her life, and Lexa offered her company, but the other woman hoped to overcome this on her own, thus the trip away from here.

 

And look at her now; she’s one of the bravest and most successful businesswomen Lexa’s known, and she’s so, so proud of who she’s become.

 

She’s not sure how, or if she even should break this news to Costia. The news about her best friend being back in town and all those occurrences that blindingly hurt the both of them.

 

“She’s back. Clarke.” Lexa says, the cracks in her voice don’t fail to express her sadness. “She’s in Polis right now.”

 

Teary green looks at everywhere but at the other only person in the room, and thus they miss the fall of her face, seemingly to have accepted a non-verbal confirmation of the truth none of them dare to speak of.

 

The truth, only blurted out of her own mouth hours ago.

 

The truth, that has been all along but only realized now.

 

The truth, once so blurry and now clear as unperturbed blue skies.

 

Alexandria Woods is in love with Clarke Griffin.

 

Costia hadn’t been here, but it feels like she had seen the whole scene off a big screen. “I figured.”

 

That definitely caught Lexa’s attention, prompting her to lift her head up to meet a defeated pair of beautiful but sad brown. She searches for hints of answers in them, but patience is starting to get the best of her.

 

The other woman lets out a tiny laugh, which confuses Lexa further.

 

In the course of these three years, there were both nights and days where Lexa would indulge in ounces of alcohol, to remind herself of her stupidity for not realizing Clarke’s feelings for her or to forget the pain of the blonde leaving she doesn’t know, even until this very day. Her vision would get obscured by the effects of the toxic substance, and she would feel either free or just, purely devastated.

 

That was when she realized that she loves _her_.

 

Standing up from the sofa Costia walks towards the window by the television, and breathes in fresh air as she lifts the handle to open it, and she knows the other brunette still has her eyes on her, waiting for an answer that comes harder than she expects.

 

“Remember the night we went out to celebrate your 20th birthday?” Costia asks, but she doesn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “You smiled, a lot. God, you had that smile throughout the night, but I could tell you weren’t happy.”

 

“You never told me what really happened that made you lose yourself. I tried to reach out but I figured you needed the space, because she is someone that you love with all your heart.”

 

At this Costia turns around to face Lexa, who has her eyes fixed on the carpeted floor. The air encompassing them stays dead, and that’s when Costia decides to close the gap between them.

 

Reaching out a hand over Lexa’s, Costia says softly, “You need to stop feeling guilty over what happened to me, Lex. You need to stop blaming yourself.”

 

Costia’s words ring in her ears, and she can’t stop that single tear that she’s been holding from breaking free. She knows exactly what Costia’s trying to say; she feels responsible for the unforeseen abduction, and to be honest, the guilt is still as penetrating as it was three years ago.

 

Once again silence takes over, but it doesn’t bother either of them. Rather than awkward, it seems comfortable and right in the moment. Then Costia retrieves her hand and speaks.

 

“I can see why you love her.”

 

Lexa lifts her head at the statement, curiosity slowly creeping up the back of her head when Costia looks into her eyes. Her raised eyebrow serves to request for an explanation.

 

“I saw her in the city yesterday. You were right. She’s beautiful.” There’s something in her voice that tells Lexa that she has, although not fully, let go.

 

It all seems a little too much like a plot that would only take place in overly dramatic movies, but what Lexa aches to know is what actually happened when Clarke was out in the city. It must have been something fervent, something so powerful that pushed Clarke to remember.

 

Her head begins to hurt even more now, but her heart is in agony.

 

“She left in a hurry. Even her friend looked pretty shocked.”

 

Only then Costia notices the fade of color on Lexa’s face, but she knows better than to ask. She offers comfort with a gentle squeeze of hand instead.

 

Another tear falls off the edge of her eyelashes when she thinks of how scared Clarke must have felt when she was colliding against hard surfaces during the crash, and how confused and angry she must have been when sharp memories injected themselves back into her.

 

A pang of guilt devours her, and she does nothing to stop it.

 

“It was five days ago when I saw her again. Outside Polaris,” Lexa starts, and she doesn’t know if she could go on because a heavy boulder suddenly builds in her throat.

 

“She was nothing like Clarke, or at least, the Clarke that I knew,” she barely manages to say under her breath. Costia rubs a thumb gently against the top of her hand, to let her know that she doesn’t have to bear it all alone.

 

“I was so, _so_ happy to see her, but I can’t say the same for her. There was something,” Lexa pauses. “Different about her.”

 

Before she knew it, she has already put the words out there, the revelation presented weakly yet powerful enough to bring her walls down. “She didn’t know who I was.”

 

Costia notes the impact this whole situation has on Lexa, and her heart _aches_ for this woman. She moves closer to her side, and tucks the few strands of hair covering Lexa’s face, only to reveal more streaming tears down her cheeks.

 

“At first I thought she was only putting on a show because she was still angry at me. But that night at the restaurant, we saw each other again.”

 

“That was when I realized that she really,” Lexa chokes a little. “That she really didn’t remember me.”

 

“After all that we went through, those three years of slow budding friendship, the memories, they were gone right before my eyes. It – ”

 

 _Hurts_.

 

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” Costia says, pulling the brunette in for a hug.

 

She tries her best to ignore the stabbing pain she feels, like hot needles poking at her heart, and she almost loses. It stings that the only person she cares about so much doesn’t return the feelings, but she hates to see Lexa like this.

 

A few silent minutes pass, and Lexa breaks away from the hug first, eyes low on the floor.

 

“When I made her that cup of coffee and talked over lunch, it felt like I was rediscovering parts of her life that I already knew, but in a different perspective.”

 

“I lied to her, Cos. I messed up.”

 

“Hey, look at me.”

 

She’s reluctant at first, but Costia’s gentle fingers guide her, and so green meets brown, but sadness only extends.

 

“The Alexandria Woods I know is strong and kind and everything but weak. I need her to come back.”

 

Costia keeps her soft gaze straight into Lexa’s, hoping that the other receives whatever she’s trying to convey. It’s the first time she’s ever witnessed the brunette break down, finally perceiving the effect of Clarke has on her. Lexa responds with a forced frail smile before releasing a shaky breath.

 

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

 

There is no answer, just breaths of hope and quiet _maybes_ filling the still, stale air.

 

*

 

Thirty minutes of continued quietude seems to have cleared a little bit of the heavy atmosphere, both of them crestfallen but one decides to step out and make a cup of tea for the other. Hot tea always does some magic on Lexa whenever she feels dejected or under the weather. Costia can only hope this time isn’t exceptional.

 

“I’m sorry, Cos. I shouldn’t have made you listen to all that.” Lexa says as she takes a sip from the steaming cup.

 

“Hey, I’ve heard enough of apologies. You’ve been saying that for the past thirty seconds.”

 

“I know, but I’m sor – ” Lexa doesn’t get to finish because Costia raises her eyebrow to warn her, who then cracks a tiny laugh at her little victory.

 

Lexa, however, doesn’t reflect her friend’s reaction.

 

_I meant to say I’m sorry for what I put you through. I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you better._

As if the older brunette could read her mind, she clears her throat and takes a deep breath.

 

“I know it’s probably not a good time, but I wanted to come back and let you know in person. Benjamin offered me a promotion earlier before I left the city.”

 

“Really? That’s good news! I’m happy for you,” Lexa says, a genuine smile shows at the wake of the news.

 

“I guess closing that two-million-dollar deal got me the position of VP,” Costia continues, “in Vancouver. My flight leaves tonight.”

 

The smile, real but short-lived, falls when she hears the words. “That soon?”

 

“He wants me to undergo some intense logistics training before officially taking over VP. Plus, you know how much I’ve always wanted to visit Canada.”

 

Lexa remembers. When they were together, Costia constantly mentioned that Canada was the epitome of beauty, good old maple syrup being one of the well-thought reasons. Now she has a reason to see it all for herself.

 

Stepping closer to the younger one, she wraps her arms around the slim figure and breathes in the sweet smell, one she knows for sure she will miss when it slowly fades away, far from her memory. Lexa pulls her in tighter.

 

“You deserve all the good in the world, Cos.”

 

“ _You_ mean the world to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you,” she admits rather nervously when the contact breaks.

 

Her brown eyes stare intently into the pair of equally glossy green eyes, as if they are conveying a message words cannot speak for. Her hands find themselves cupping Lexa’s cheeks, once again wiping away tracks of tears that form as they bid farewell with no words, just emotions pouring out. Costia tilts her head inwards so their foreheads touch in the gentlest way, and slowly her lips connect Lexa’s with a brief, chaste goodbye kiss.

 

“Take care.”

 

Her heart has never felt this heavy until the moment another person of absolute importance leaves her household.

 

She hates those same words that ring in her ears because they aren’t just letters put together anymore. They leave scars nothing can heal.

 

_“May we meet again.”_

* * *

 

 

Two steps out of that apartment was almost enough to tame the flaming rage in the pit of her stomach, or at least she’s trying to believe so. She doesn’t feel her legs striding on cemented pavements, she doesn’t register the strong smell of tobacco in the air she’s breathing, she doesn’t notice curious eyes on her because all she thinks of are the overflowing memories coming back to her like ripple waves, and they’re not all good.

 

A faint yet lucid image of her dad fastening the seatbelt for her six-year-old self comes in. It’s like she’s seeing it all right before her eyes again, the excitement at the time tingles fresh as she remembers unwrapping her birthday present eagerly to find a silver antique-looking watch inside the gift box. Another scene flashes in, and she’s not sure which one hurt more.

 

 

_There was only two months left until they finally graduate; the finish line flagging the end to amounting assignments, impromptu tests and countless group projects wasn’t too far away. All seemed trivial when she saw a familiar figure sprawled on her back on the recently mowed grass near the parking area of Polis High. That was all it took for a smile to appear, and she let it stretch as her legs worked towards her best friend._

_Both of Lexa’s hands were on top of her abdomen, with headphones over her ears and eyes closed. Clarke can make out her steady respiration by the rise and fall of her chest. Either her footsteps sent tremors in Lexa’s direction or the girl could simply sense minute changes in the air, the brunette opens her mouth to assess her guess._

_“Clarke?”_

_“Hey,” Clarke greeted her back, dropping her bag a good fifteen inches away from Lexa._

_“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” the brunette tells, her voice calm and soft it almost gave Clarke goosebumps._

_“Is this your idea of ‘I know exactly the place to watch the sunset’?”_

_Lexa hummed in response, her eyes still shut, away from soft-hued light, as Clarke shifts to imitate her posture, except the blonde gazed at her like she was the most beautiful creature on this deeply-marred world. Blue eyes traced every outline, every feature of her face; not to search for flaws or proofs of perfection, but it was in this very moment she felt_ alive.

 

_“Lex.”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“You’re not actually listening to anything, are you?”_

_There was no reply, just the sound of a long conceding breath when Lexa knew she had been too obvious. When she finally let in the light she saw Clarke holding onto the free-hanging jack plug, who raised her concern by arching an eyebrow at the girl._

_“My mistake,” Lexa says as she removes the rather bulky device, tossing it to the side._

_“What’s up?” Clarke asks, her body now angled sideways to fully take in Lexa’s appearance. “Lex, I’ve known you for three years. You think I can’t tell when something’s bothering you? You put headphones on because you want people to think you don’t give a damn about what’s going on around you, but really so much goes on in your head and – ”_

_“I still miss her.”_

_Clarke’s throat suddenly felt so dry, her heart plummeted when the truth imprinted in the back of her head. She didn’t say much; she just listened. Months after months she kept her feelings inside, never once did the right moment show up. Somehow today, it felt different. Today felt like the day she was ready; she was going to tell Lexa about her growing feelings for the latter, but now the words, the courage and preparations she had before, they flushed back down to the existing hollowness and maybe, Clarke thought, maybe this, too, was the day she lost them for good._

Getting home takes an incredible amount of effort, especially tonight. She knows sleep is going to elude her, with all the thoughts running in her mind how can one sleep. Fallen leaves surrounded the bench she was sitting on in the park half an hour ago, and when she looked up at the sky to search for the stars she saw none. Only tears mixing with the rain that poured as the night got darker.

 

Once out of her soaking clothes, Clarke runs hot water down the expanse of her. She doesn’t care about it scalding her skin, she ignores the growing color of blood rushing due to temperature; all she wants is for the pain inside her to go away, and these memories to get out of her head.

 

Clarke almost wishes she never remembered any of this.

 

The shower ought to make her feel better, no matter how slight, but it doesn’t. Just as she’s done putting on her sweater and jogger pants, hoping to get at least some rest, the doorbell rings.

 

“Clarke, it’s me,” the voice calls out from the other side of the door.

 

Now she really wants to blast her speakers and disregard anything beyond the walls of her apartment. She knows exactly who is outside, knocking at her door twice more.

 

“I know you’re in there, Clarke.”

 

“What do you want, Raven?” The anger in her voice evident as she swings open the door, at the image of Raven’s closed fist in mid-air, most probably about to knock again for the third time.

 

“I got your text. I wanted to call, but then I thought it’d be better for us to talk in person,” the engineer says carefully as she makes her way inside Clarke’s apartment, not wanting to push any wrong buttons.

 

“Right. Where do you think we should start? The part where you tell me why you kept your mouth shut about Lexa and I, or the part where you come up with reasons to why you chose to tell her the truth and not me?” Her tone is biting it can smash an iceberg anytime.

 

Raven looks slightly taken aback at this Clarke, no longer joking around and teasing, instead serious and resentful. It’s hard to be calm when situations like this show up right outside your front door.

 

“When I found out about your accident I was terrified, Clarke. You flew out of the car, and your head got hit several times, hard. I thought I was going to lose you.” Raven starts off shaky.

 

“But when you woke up, you never mentioned her name. Not even once. I thought that maybe you were still upset about what happened between you two before you left Polis, but I was wrong. She was completely washed out of your memory.”

 

“The doctor explained that these selective fragments, unbeknownst to victims of head trauma themselves, get buried deep in one’s subconscious, and going by the rules of human psychology, regaining them is entirely up to the individual,” the darker-skinned woman explains.

 

“The reason why you couldn’t remember those specific recollections of the past was because you didn’t want to. They destroyed you,” she continues.

 

“Stop.” Clarke demands, and Raven complies.

 

Before Raven showed up at her door, she had yearned for the truth behind her memory loss, despite knowing it would hurt. This condition of hers, from what her friend has said, seems inapplicable, because Clarke never really did forget about the pain. She merely concealed it away, comparable to the action of storing in a locked treasure chest, because deep down inside she knows the fear of similar occurrences is condemning her.

 

Her grip on the hand of her sofa tightens, fingernails digging into the soft material. She can’t hear any more of this, but there’s one more thing she needs to know before she allows herself to splinter.

 

“Why did you keep this from me?”

 

The coldness in her tone is felt by the other person in the room, who fills the gap between with a pause, contemplating what’s best to say.

 

“Abby thought it would be best for you to start over. Forget the pain. Move on.”

 

“You’re telling me this was all my mom’s doing? And you went along with it?” The rage within her is conspicuous with each passing second.

 

“I was so blinded by the emotional pain Lexa caused to you – ” Raven doesn’t get to finish.

 

“It’s not just about Lexa!” Clarke screams as the held back tears finally fall. “I couldn’t remember who my own father was to me!”

 

And there it is again. Silence. The night just seems to get tougher, giving nobody the time to breathe properly. Clarke certainly wasn’t expecting any of this when she booked her ticket to New York; she envisioned a life where art was the salient part. In it too she pictured growing old with Finn, whom she loved wholeheartedly through the years of being together. Turns out, she’s been living a lie.

 

Moments later she feels arms wrap around her, tugging her into a tight hug. Clarke stands there, still and unmoving. Her eyes are starting to sting from the salt, and that’s when she hears Raven’s apology.

 

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

 

She’s sorry too.

 

They sit down in absolute silence for what feels like forever, as if waiting for the tension to die down. The crease in between Raven’s eyebrows shows her concern for her friend, but she isn’t sure if it’s the right time to voice it out. Eventually she gives in to her worry and says it out.

 

“I know I’m not in any position to ask, Clarke, but will you be okay?”

 

Clarke laughs, which Raven wasn’t expecting at all, but somehow she hears the pain it carries. The blonde looks straight into the worried pair of eyes, and says “I guess Finn saw it all coming.”

 

A puzzled look grows on the length of Raven’s face.

 

“We broke up.”

 

* * *

 

 

This is her first time here since the day the inevitable farewell was forced on her, but she never really got to properly say goodbye. Tracing her fingers across her father’s name engraved on the tombstone, melancholy hits, as well as a hint of nostalgia. Clarke has never been a believer of theories of Physics, but right now she wishes for nothing but to travel back in time to say that one goodbye.

 

She’s still getting flashes of the past every now and then, and while the most sensible thing to do the moment this happened was to see her doctor, or at least tell her mother, she couldn’t. Trusting anyone isn’t on her list anymore, and Clarke’s instinct tells her that this is going to be how it is for a long time.

 

“I miss you, Dad,” she finally says, allowing herself to break down before her father.

 

She wants to tell Jake about her graduation, her art venture; her life. The purpose she once bore before all of this fell upon her is now nothing more than a smear on a blank page. _Please tell me what I should do, Dad._

 

Clarke can only hope her dad hears her plea.

 

She doesn’t notice the figure standing behind a tree a distance away.

 

Lexa hadn’t meant to trail behind the blonde, but what Costia said before she left for Vancouver opened a door within her. In typical situations an ex would never offer advice that would jeopardize the possibility of getting back together, especially when she knows Costia’s unstirred feelings for her, if not stronger now than before. Costia is different, and that’s why Lexa loved her, because she saw that in her. _If you care about her, don’t leave her._

Lexa cares, not because she’s the main reason why Clarke’s going through everything she shouldn’t be. Lexa cares, not just because she wants to make up for the lies she’s told when she could have been truthful.

 

She cares because she’s in love with Clarke Griffin.

 

Something in her jean pocket suddenly vibrates, startling her, and it’s a good thing she’s this distance away from Clarke. She withdraws her attention to the screen of her phone tells her someone’s calling, but with no registered name. It could really have been a prank call, but picking it up proves to her that her life’s only going to get more complicated than it already is.

 

She waits for the other person to speak first.

 

“Hi, may I please speak with Alexandria Woods?”

 

“Who is this,” she says warily.

 

“My name is Octavia Blake, from the NYPD.”

 

_Octavia Blake? This name rings a bell._

 

“I'm calling to inform you about Gustus Woods’ hit and run case. A man has turned himself in for the accident.”

 

If she hadn’t answered, the fact that she had an uncle would be piled under the million thoughts she has at the moment. It’s awful not being able to seek for closure or even feel the slightest relief knowing that the person behind his death finally came to his senses and surrendered himself, all because of how estranged he was to her. What she knows is guilt is devouring her.

 

“Who is he?”

 

“I’m not permitted to give any more information than that until our side is clear.”

 

She understands how the laws here work, so she doesn’t push further. What bothers her is why this person only decided to confess to his mistake now, when he could have saved her uncle as he laid there on the road, fighting to stay alive. The rest of the phone call doesn’t go anywhere deep, but Octavia tells her beforehand to expect more unforeseen calls like this one.

 

Putting her phone away Lexa turns around, and she’s gone.

 

* * *

 

It’s only been a day since Lexa last saw her, but it honestly feels like an eternity. She would have look out for her from afar, but a realization dawned on her, telling her to give Clarke some space to breathe. Both of them are hurting, and maybe not seeing each other again is the best solution, at least for now.

 

Of course her wishes never get granted.

 

Just as she draws the curtain to open the window, her phone rings. Lexa groans inwardly, thinks about leaving it but eventually she gives in and picks the device up. Her heart drops when she sees who’s calling.

 

It’s Clarke.

 

Not any other Clarke.

 

 _Her_ Clarke.

 

This time the pause stretches for a little; Lexa has little to no idea why Clarke would call her at this time, after everything that’s happened between them. It’s not the confrontation that scares her; it’s the possibility of her hurting Clarke even more if she sees her again.

 

But it doesn’t keep ringing. Lexa finds herself staring at the blinking screen for more than twenty seconds now, torn between turning it off or rejecting it. Then it stops.

 

A minute later a text comes in.

 

_“Come now – Anya”_

Why does Anya have Clarke’s phone? Lexa doesn’t let this dwell on her because in the next few seconds she’s already grabbed her jacket and left for Lola’s.

 

She has to make sure Clarke is okay.

 

Her strides are definitely larger than usual, because she’s scanning around the pub for the blonde ten minutes later. One thing she’s missed is the exuberant Friday night atmosphere, when people are already swaying, forgetting their stances before the clock even hits nine.  

 

Lexa spots Anya’s near the bar, sitting right next to an intoxicated Clarke who has five empty shot glasses in front of her. A sudden pain jabs at her heart when she analyzes the situation; Lexa may very well be the reason why the blonde is drinking so much. It’s selfish, but Lexa thinks about turning away and leaving, ignoring the reason why she rushed over in the first place. The entrance isn’t that far away -

 

“Lexa!” Someone shouts over the loud music.

 

Now she has to stay.

 

She barely spins around before a warm body collides with her, squeezing her tight.

 

“Hey,” Lexa says, returning the hug.

 

“Hey yourself.”

 

Anya notices the strange look on Lexa’s face; worry, guilt and sadness all in one. She doesn’t question it though, most probably because she already knows what happened.

 

“Why didn’t you call Finn,” the brunette sighs, finally looking away.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“Her boyfriend. Fiance,” she corrects herself, trying to force down the jealousy climbing up her throat when reality catches up.

 

Anya shrugs. “All I know is she kept babbling on about you when Aden got her drinks, so I figured she’d want to see you. She’s your problem now.”

 

Anya gives her a gentle pat on the shoulder before leaving to entertain some group of people. Her heart is pounding against her chest so hard she swears it jumping out would be one thing to be wary of. Slowly she starts to make her way towards the artist, taking smaller hesitant steps as she braves herself for what’s to come.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa says heedful, leaving some distance in between them.

 

Naturally Clarke turns at the call of her name, only to find herself staring right into glossy green. Something sparks.

 

But quickly the anger that brought her here, to drink away her sorrow and pain, resurfaces. She gets up abruptly and heads towards the back of the pub, slamming the door closed as she disappears into the alleyway.

 

Or at least she tries.

 

“Clarke, wait!”

 

She remembers the butterflies that used to appear in her stomach every time she heard this voice, regardless of the tones and meanings it underpinned, and that’s possibly why she did it.

 

She halts in the midst of her tracks.

 

The alley is so quiet Clarke can practically hear every breath Lexa takes, so missing the slowly approaching sound of footsteps is impossible. When a careful hand touches her shoulder, time doesn’t stop. Instead, whatever’s happening in the next five seconds is hazy, because suddenly she’s pressed up against Lexa, whose back hit the wall with a thud. The victim grimaces at the impact, but she doesn’t fight back.

 

Even in darkness blue manages to reach her eyes, and her sharp breaths fail to match Clarke’s. But when she focuses, Lexa realizes that the woman right in front of her, fingernails digging into her flesh she almost bleeds, is _so_ broken inside. She hears her own shatter too.

 

“I’m sor – ” Lexa doesn’t get to apologize before something shuts her up.

 

A gasp escapes when a pair of slightly chapped lips crashes against hers eagerly, and at the rough entrance of tongue she tastes the bitter tang of whiskey and vodka, then comes the metallic taste when sharp teeth bite down her lower lip, hard and almost merciless.

 

If Clarke notices the tear that’s running down Lexa’s cheek, she doesn’t show.

 

“I’ve given what you want. I don’t want to see you again.”

 

With that she leaves her there, lips parted and heartbroken.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to those who's still sticking around to see how this story unfolds, despite my inefficiency in updating it. Let me know what you think and what you hope to see in the final few chapters! x


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